


One Call

by groff



Category: Sex Education (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Lovers, Falling In Love, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, Letters, Love Letters, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-10-14 20:58:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17515790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/groff/pseuds/groff
Summary: Adam has one phone call. He takes a chance.





	1. One Call

“You get one phone call.”

 

Adam’s phone is slapped roughly into his hand as he steps up to the sergeant’s desk. He’s a grizzled older man with a salt and pepper buzz cut. His blue eyes are cold as he eyes Adam. “One. Phone call.” He repeats, his voice stony. 

 

Adam takes his phone and walks back to his bunk. He shares an open room with twenty-seven other boys. Each of them have their own level of a bunk bed and a locker to hang their clothes. Each bed is made with a scratchy gray blanket, the edges tucked tightly under the mattress. Those who already have their cells passed back to them sit on their bunks or huddle next to their lockers, smiling and talking to the person on the other end of the line. He knows some of them are happily talking to their girlfriends. Some have called back to their mum or dad. All of them are excited about whoever they are calling. The energy in the room buzzes pleasantly. 

 

Adam sits on his bottom bunk - he blackened the last occupant's eye to get it - and turns on his phone. The screen lights up. He waits. He thumbs in the lock pin and waits a bit more. He ignores the sinking feeling in his chest. The icon at the bottom, signifying his text messages, stays the same. No messages appear. No one has messaged him. He’s been here for just over three weeks and not a single person-

 

He pushes down the crushing feeling of helpless loneliness. He has one phone call. He might as well not waste it. 

 

He taps open his contacts. He toys with the idea of calling his mum, but it’s late afternoon and his dad will probably be there, too. His stomach churns at the thought of listening to his dad berate him about the “less than excellent” report cards his class sergeant has sent home. His sergeant, a thin, cruel man with a voice like a foghorn, had made it perfectly clear that the cards were  _ very  _ detailed. Every single thing he had done - particularly every single wrong thing he had done - had been written up and sent back to his father. Adam doubted his father was thrilled. 

 

So he scrolls. He scrolls to the bottom of his list, then back to the top. There are a lot of names. A lot of numbers that would connect him to someone whose face he probably couldn’t even picture. His eyes snag on a name. He hesitates. His thumb hovers for just a moment. 

 

It’s a bad idea. It’s a bad idea that’s been knocking around his head since he stepped into the commander’s car. He’s been run ragged every single day, worked to the bone, given more bruises than his dad ever dared to, but he can’t shake the idea. It just won’t go away. He knows it’s a bad idea. She won’t even answer, and if she does she certainly won’t give him what he wants. 

 

What he wants. 

 

What he wants is impossible. What he wants is a fever dream locked in a dusty music storage room, engraved onto a desk in the science lab, held captive by a single, fleeting glance as he stepped into that car. What he wants is caged up, chained down by years of lashing out. Destroyed by learned violence and misdirected rage. 

 

What he wants doesn’t stand a chance. The facts stack up against him. Three stolen moments do not equal forgiveness. 

 

Adam taps on her name and brings the phone up to his ear. He listens to it ring. His heart pounds. It rings for an infinite amount of time that probably amounts to just a few seconds. He almost gives up, almost lets go of the flutter of hope in his chest. He doesn’t want to hope anyway. Hope has never been kind to him before. 

 

“What do you want, Adam?”

 

He releases a breath. Relief of all kinds washes over him. A familiar voice. A kind voice. She’s exasperated with him, sure, but she isn’t yelling. She isn’t degrading him. She can’t raise a hand against him. 

 

“I’m hanging up.”

 

“No, wait!” he says quickly. He let the silence sit for too long. “Please don’t hang up.” He hates himself for the pleading in his voice. 

 

She sighs. “What do you want, Adam?” she asks again. 

 

He bites his lip and hunches over his lap. The hand not holding his phone clenches into a white-knuckled fist on his thigh. “I need a favor.” 

 

Her silence says more than words. Anxiety sparks in his chest. This is so stupid, it’s such a bad idea. “I’m sorry,” he blurts out. “I need you to mail me Eric Effiong’s address.” 

 

He can almost see her blinking in confusion. He can feel her befuddlement over the line. His nerves break. “Nevermind. This was stupid,” he pulls the phone away to hang up, his eyes stinging with a pain he refuses to acknowledge. His chest aches. 

 

“No, wait!” she yelps and he hesitates. He brings the phone back up to his ear. “Why do you want Eric’s address?” 

 

“None of your fucking business,” he growls loud enough that he draws the gaze of the other students standing closest to him. He lowers his voice. “Why isn’t important. Aimee, please.” 

 

“Well,” she says slowly. “I don’t know Eric’s address, but I suppose I could ask Maeve.” 

 

“Yes, yes!” he agrees eagerly. The tiny flame of hope flickers back to life in his chest. “Thank you,” he whispers. 

 

“I can text it to you by tomorrow, probably,” she says. 

 

“Ah, no,” he replies. Another boy taps him on the shoulder. He glances up. 

 

“Sarge says two minutes,” the boy says. 

 

“You have to mail it to me,” Adam rushes on. “Do you have a pen? You have to post it to me as soon as you can.”

 

“Oh,” Aimee says. He listens to her rustle through her things, his anxiety mounting. “Hold on, let me find a pen and paper.” 

 

_ Please, please, please.  _ He thinks as he chews on his lower lip.  _ Please hurry.  _

 

There is a franticness in his chest he can’t explain. Maybe he doesn’t want to explain it. He’s never made the best decisions. He’s always been impulsive and angry and mean. This feels like walking into an active minefield with elephant feet. He wants. Something inside of him, something small that he’s stuffed away for so long, lights like a struck match. Hot and bright, singing his fingertips. He wants to keep it lit, feel it’s warmth. He wants. 

 

“One minute!” The sergeant yells. The boys around him begin to say their goodbyes. A few drift past him to line up and turn in their phones. 

 

“All right,” Aimee says, her voice muffled. “Where am I posting it to?”

 

Adam rattles off the address, his voice breathless. His heart is picking up the pace in his chest. 

 

“Groff!” The sergeant shouts from behind him. “Times up!” 

 

“What was the street?” Aimee asks. 

 

Frustration wells up inside of him, a tidal wave he can’t force down. His free hand claws into the rough fabric of his pants as he grits out the street name again. 

 

_ Please, please, please.  _

 

“Groff!” He hears footsteps behind him. They are ominous. Loud. They pound on the cheap linoleum flooring, heavy. The sound makes him want to run. 

 

Aimee begins to repeat the address and Adam tries to focus on what she’s saying. Adrenaline throbs through his veins. He can hear the sergeant getting closer. He can feel the man’s anger. Cold fear slithers up his spine. Sweat breaks out on the back on his neck. 

 

“Yes!” he replies when Aimee finishes. “Yes, thank you. Bye, Aimee!” he pulls the phone away from his ear and hangs up just as a thick hand lands on his shoulder. Fingers dig into his flesh. He turns his head and looks up. The sergeant glares down at him with livid blue eyes. 

 

“Times up,” he snarls and then shoves. His phone flies out of his hands. Adam lands on his hands and knees. He grits his teeth, clenches his eyes shut. His fingers twist into knuckles against the cold floor. He breathes in and looks up. The sergeant looms over him. “Push-ups,” he says. “Go until I tell you to stop.”

 

Adam moves into the plank position but pauses when a meaty hand grips his jaw and forces him to look up. The sergeant has a cruel smirk on his face. He wags the phone in Adam’s face. “You’ve lost your phone privileges for the month,” he releases Adam’s jaw. “And this will be going in your report card.” 

 

~~~

 

Aimee meets Maeve at the old bathrooms before classes start the next morning. Maeve has been there for a while already. Two cigarette butts smoke at her feet. 

 

“Good morning, pet,” Maeve says, smoke leaking from the corners of her lips as she offers Aimee a tight smile. 

 

“Good morning,” Aimee replies, settling next to her and lighting up one of her own. She takes a drag. “The strangest thing happened to me last night.”

 

Mave hums in response, her eyes distant. “Yeah?” 

 

“Adam called me,” Aimee watches her friend closely. There is a pause as Maeve’s eyes widen a fraction. The corners of her mouth tense. 

 

“Oh?” is all she says. 

 

“Mhm,” Aimee says, taking another drag before blowing out slowly. She watches the smoke drift in the air. “He wants to know Eric Effiong’s address.” 

 

This gets an actual response out of Maeve. She turns towards Aimee, eyebrow raised. “Eric Effiong’s address?” she asks, as if she might not have heard correctly. “What would he want that for?”

 

Aimee shrugs. “I’m not sure. He wouldn’t tell me why. Do you have it?”

 

“You aren’t actually going to give him Eric’s address?” she asks incredulously. She stubs out her cigarette against the wall. 

 

“Well, yes?” Aimee asks, tilting her head to the side. “He seemed so sad on the phone. He was being yelled at while we were talking. It seemed like he really needs it, Maeve.” 

 

Maeve is already shaking her head. “Aimee, that’s a terrible idea. Adam has been bullying Eric for years.”

 

Aimee nods thoughtfully. “I suppose you’re right. There was just something in the way he said it though. He even said please.” 

 

Maeve scoffs and rolls her eyes. 

 

“Maybe he just wants to apologize for all the things he did?”

 

Maeve snorts, standing up. “Adam Groff? Apologize? Yeah right,” she shakes her head again. “Let it go, Aimee. Adam Groff is not a nice guy.”

 

Aimee frowns. “Perhaps not.” 

 

Maeve smiles and offers a hand. “You should get to class. I have to go to work.” 

 

Sadly, Aimee takes Maeve’s hand and stands. “I’ll come by after school. You can tell me all about your day!” she offers a bright smile 

 

Maeve nods. The smile on her face slips. Aimee pretends not to notice.  

 

~~~ 

  
  



	2. Stationary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for implied abuse

Adam wakes up the next morning just like he has for the past three weeks: his class sergeant bellows for them to get a move on. He walks through the rows of bunks, periodically pausing to shake a metal frame with both hands. Most boys, having been here long enough to know the drill, are already up: tying their trainers, making their beds, and packing their rucksacks. Others, newer boys like Adam, are slow to wake up and confused by the chaos swirling around them so early in the morning. 

 

“Last one out the door and in formation gets to scrub the latrines with their toothbrush!” the sergeant shouts with one final shake to a bed. The lad climbing down is nearly knocked to the floor from the force. 

 

That wakes up even the drowsiest of them. Boys scramble past each other in a mad rush to make it out the door before everyone else. The sergeant stands guard, forcing boys without shoes or rucksacks to go back to their bunks to try again. Some of the lads abandon their beds half-made, assuming the punishment for that will be less than the punishment for being last. 

 

Adam tries to ignore the chaos around him as he ties his shoes and retucks the corners of his bed. He checks the contents of his rucksack for a full water bottle, deodorant, and coursework before slinging it over his shoulder and heading towards the door. Maybe half of the other lads have made it outside to fall in; some are still struggling with their beds or trying to locate their trainers. Adam almost feels sorry for the ones running about with just their socks on. He knows for fact that the missing shoes are shoved into the adjoining toilets. While he lay sleepless on his bunk, staring at the bars of the bed above him, he had heard a small group of other lads giggling as they stole shoes out of lockers. 

 

He’s halfway to the door when he notices their newest classmate. He’s a scrawny boy who had been dropped off two days ago. He’d barely had time to acclimate. They’d buzzed his hair short on the first day, swapped his ‘street’ clothes for uniforms, and put him through strenuous physical tests to measure his stamina. The dorm lead, a quiet, sullen boy who was entrusted with the general wellbeing of his dorm mates when the sergeant wasn’t about, had run him through a crash course of expectations that had taken no longer than ten minutes. That wasn’t nearly enough time to learn all of the ins and outs of what the sergeant wanted to see. 

 

Adam watches as the boy struggles to make the corners crisp, like hospital corners. A few of the other lads have made it a game to run to each corner he has done and yank it back out. They take turns doing it as they hurry past putting together their own things. The new boy goes in circles, desperately trying to shoo them off and get his bed finished before he’s the last man standing. 

 

They had tried to play this particular game with Adam when he first arrived. Adam had bloodied two of their noses and a left swelling bruise on one’s cheekbone in full sight of the class sergeant. The sergeant had made him scrub the dormitory floor until it sparkled, but the boys had never messed with him again. 

 

He watches for a few more seconds. He shouldn’t interfere. In places like this, you have to earn the right to be treated with respect from your peers. You have to stand up for yourself, more often than not with your fists. Adam chews the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood. He’s about to turn away when one of the boys runs past the new kid and pinches him hard on the arm. The new kid yelps. 

 

The boy who issued the pinch laughs and says, “You’re so useless. You can’t even make a bed.” 

 

_ “You’re so useless! You can’t do anything right.”  _

 

Adam should leave. He’s not a nice person. There isn’t any point trying to redeem himself, not when he’s been the one issuing pinches and cruel words in the past. This one act wouldn’t change anything. 

 

He glances around the room. It’s mostly empty, just four or five of his classmates left. He steps up to the bed, slapping his hand on the last remaining tormentor’s shoulder. He’s a redhead with sharp green eyes. His arms are littered with freckles and little, circular scars. He looks up at Adam with a sneer. Adam pins him with a hard look, using his broader shoulders and extra inches to force the boy to back up. 

 

“Fuck off,” Adam tells him. 

 

They glare at each other for a long moment. Finally, the other boy rolls his eyes and smacks his hand away. “I’d watch yourself if I were you,” he growls. “You don’t want to be on our bad side.” With that, he storms off, snatching his rucksack off of his bunk before darting out the door. 

 

Adam kneels to help make up one of the corners of the bed. The new boy stares at him with wide brown eyes. Adam doesn’t meet the look as he moves to another corner of the bed. When he glances up, he’s struck by the memory of Eric lying underneath him in the music storage room. Eric and this lad are nothing alike, but the look of confusion and awe are the same. 

 

Adam pushes the memory aside and stands. He can’t think of Eric right now. He doesn’t want to humor the flicker of hope he had ignited last night with his ill-planned call to Aimee. He doesn’t deserve Eric’s attention, and he doesn’t want it. 

 

Adam jerks his hand over his shoulder, pointing his thumb towards the door. “Go,” he grouches. The new boy scrambles away, one shoe untied. Adam follows him. There is one other boy in the room with them. He’s big, bigger than Adam is, and thick with muscle. He has black hair shaved close to his head. There is a glint of cruelty in his eyes as he watches Adam. Adam ignores him, keeping his eyes locked on the door. His fists tighten on the straps of his rucksack. 

 

The bigger boy moves faster than Adam expected. Before he realizes what has happened, the boy leaps towards him and slams into his side. He hits the ground, head bouncing on the floor hard enough that he sees stars. 

 

“Know your place,” the boy hisses down at him. Adam’s gut boils with rage. He clenches his fists tight and presses them into the cold floor. Heat floods the back of his neck and into his face. He has to bite back an angry retort as the other lad moves off. 

 

Before Adam can pull himself off of the ground, the class sergeant walks up to loom over him. There is a cocky smirk on his face. “Taking a nap, Groff?” he asks as the other boy exits the room. “Too bad. Looks like we’ll have to go on our run without you.” He tosses something and Adam flinches as it lands with a clatter next to his face. It’s his toothbrush. “If those loos aren’t spotless by the time we’re back, you get to run double what we run.”

 

He laughs and gives Adam’s foot a parting kick as he leaves, slamming the dormitory door behind him. 

 

~~~

 

Adam is not done scrubbing everything spotless when they get back. He’s sweaty from the humid confines of the bathrooms, and the fumes from the cleaner make his stomach roll with nausea. When he hears the door to the bathroom swing open, he braces himself for the worst. His sergeant charges into the room, his face red with rage. If it had been possible, steam would have literally been pouring from his ears. 

 

He grabs Adam by the arm and drags him up and out of the stall he had been kneeling in. Adam goes willingly, trying to keep his face blank and devoid of emotion. He had learned from a young age that it’s always worse if he shows emotion. The sergeant marches him outside and calls the waiting class to attention. In front of all of them, he screams directly into Adam’s face. Adam fights to stay calm as bits of spittle dot his face. A rough finger jabs his chest. Occasionally, the man takes him by the shoulders and shakes him. 

 

He keeps his mouth closed and his eyes glued straight ahead. 

 

Finally, the sergeant’s tirade slows. Puffing, he points to the track located in the center of the yard. “Fifteen laps!” he snaps. Adam’s stomach gurgles from the lack of breakfast. “You don’t get to eat until you’re done.” 

 

“Yes, sir,” Adam replies dutifully. He moves towards the track. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the new boy standing in the formation. He’s got a swelling cut on one cheek. He doesn’t look at Adam as he walks past. 

 

~~~

 

As hard as Aimee tries, she can’t get Adam out of her head. Throughout the day, the conversation they had over the phone keeps repeating itself. The way his voice had sounded when he had said Eric’s name. The pleading in his tone when he had said  _ “Please, Aimee,”  _ as though she were his last lifeline. 

 

Maeve had said that Adam wasn’t a good person. It was true. She couldn’t argue that he was a good person by any standard. He broke every rule in the book. He was impulsive and mean spirited. He put people down. He used his size to intimidate people. She had seen him shout at classmates. She had seen him hip check people into lockers. He insulted people as easily as he breathed. 

 

But. 

 

She had seen him be sweet, sometimes. They had dated for a few months, over break before sixth form had started. He had done things like bring her flowers when she failed a test. He had stolen money from his father to pay for the care of a sick puppy he had found. When she had been stressed about her exams, he had offered to study with her. When she was the only one watching, he had been kind. 

 

She didn’t figure that being selectively kind made you a good person. 

 

Still, though. Maybe something had changed. Maybe the military school had caused a shift in Adam. There were all kinds of reasons that people changed. Maybe Adam was changing for the better. 

 

Lost in thought, Aimee turns into a hallway, headed for the exit. She plans on walking to Maeve’s home to meet her there. Maeve has been so in the dumps lately, ever since she had been suspended from school. As she turns, she sees Eric and Otis standing by their lockers. An idea springs to her mind. 

 

“Eric!” she says, walking closer. He looks up at her, startled. 

 

“Oh my god.” He grabs Otis’ shoulder and shakes him. “Aimee Gibbs is talking to me!” 

 

Aimee rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Hi, Eric. Hi, Otis.”

 

Otis smiles awkwardly. Eric beams. His smile is almost brighter than his yellow and white floral button up. 

 

“Can I speak with you for just a second, Eric?” she asks. “Privately?”

 

Otis and Eric share a look, both of their eyes wide. They communicate something in their stare. After a moment, Otis nods. “Meet you outside,” he says, closing his locker and leaving. 

 

When he’s gone, Aimee turns to Eric. She opens her mouth to speak. “I’m gay!” Eric blurts out, interrupting her. He clutches a stack of books to his chest like a shield.

 

Aimee nods. “I know?” she says, confused. 

 

Eric lets out a sigh of relief, shoulders relaxing. “Oh, grand. Last time I didn’t make that perfectly clear, well.” he trails off with a laugh. 

 

Aimee is curious but doesn’t ask. “I got a phone call from Adam last night,” she says instead. 

 

Eric drops his books. With a startled gasp, Aimee jumps back. One of them lands dangerously close to her foot, a heavy looking Biology text. “You could have broken my toes!” she whimpers, looking back up. Eric is staring at her like she’s grown a second head. “What?” she demands irritably. 

 

The serious expression Eric had falls immediately. He drops to his knees to gather his books, lip bit between his teeth. “I’m sorry,” he replies. “You surprised me, that’s all.” Once his books are gathered into his lap, he stays crouched on the floor. “What were you saying about…” he stops, glancing up at her through his eyelashes. 

 

Feeling rather silly standing over him, Aimee crouches. Eric meets her eyes. His normally expressive face is shuttered off, his lips drawn tight and eyes tense. His shoulders hunch protectively over his books. 

 

“Adam called me last night to ask for your address,” she tells him. A strange emotion flickers in his eyes before he closes off again. “So I asked Maeve if she had it, but she didn’t give it to me because Adam isn’t a good person. But I’ve been thinking about it all day because, well,” she pauses, unslinging her backpack from her shoulder to rifle through it. She pulls out the crumpled sheet of stationary paper she had written the address on last night. “He’s very far from home, you know. He’s probably lonely. I don’t know why he asked for you, but.” Carefully, she places the sheet on top of Eric’s stack of books. “This is his address.” 

 

Eric’s eyes drift down to look at her loopy print, at the letters and numbers written in glittery pink gel pen. “Why?” he asks after a moment. “Why my address?”

 

Aimee shrugs. “I don’t know,” she replies. She stands to go. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey pals, look at me go! Two chapters in two days, and I've started hand writing the third chapter! 
> 
> Thank you for all of your lovely comments!! I promise I'll respond to them individually this weekend. I'd love it if you left more! Hope you enjoy chapter 2!
> 
> Up next, Eric's POV.


	3. Eric

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for homophobia and implied abuse

Aimee leaves, but Eric stays crouched on the floor, eyes locked on the creamy sheet of paper stacked on top of his books. He tries to process what he had just been told. 

 

Adam - his breath hitches in his chest - had called Aimee to get his address. Why did Adam want his address? 

 

Shifting his weight so his books are balanced in one arm, he lifts a hand to trace the letters of Aimee’s looping scrawl. He doesn’t know how to feel. He’s been going to school with Adam for years. Adam has been taking his lunch money and shoving him against lockers for most of those years. He’s been comfortable with the knowledge that Adam doesn’t like him. But then… then…

 

Adam had kissed him during detention. It rocked Eric’s world. It  _ still  _ rocks his world, even with weeks having passed. Thinking of it still makes his lips tingle. The blowjob was, of course, an excellent bonus to the moment, but his mind always goes back to those first kisses. The way Adam’s eyes flicked down to his lips. The way his face softened, just a hint. How Adam had cupped his jaw and thumbed gently at his temple while drawing him deeper into the kiss. 

 

After Adam had sucked him off, he had kissed his way back up to Eric’s lips again. They had made out for what felt like hours. The feeling of Adam’s hands, one under his shirt to press against his ribs and the other holding his face close, is burned into Eric’s skin. 

 

And then in the science lab. After they had stopped kissing, Adam had threatened him and left. Eric hadn’t been sure, after that, if the kisses had been some kind of fever dream or not. But then Adam had placed his hand so intentionally close to his. When he knocked their knees together, Eric knew for sure it was real, it was all  _ real _ . When their pinkies had brushed, it made Eric ache. The gesture was soft, sweet. It filled his chest with hope and with longing. 

 

He had gone to Adam’s house that day after school to see if he could get Adam to talk to him. He wanted to know what was going on inside of Adam’s head. He desperately wanted to know. He  _ still  _ wants to know. Instead, he had found Adam climbing into a car, a man in uniform in the driver’s seat. The look on Adam’s face had broken Eric’s heart. It had been so flat, carefully devoid of emotion, but his eyes…

 

Eric saw how sad he was. Maybe he had been seeing it for some time, at least since the night of the dance, but at that moment Eric saw how truly lonely Adam was. 

 

Their eyes had met and held for a moment as the car turned onto the road. Adam twisted in his seat to watch him out the back window until the car moved out of sight. That was the last Eric had seen or heard from Adam, until now. 

 

Eric can’t even begin to fathom what Adam’s intentions are. Between the passionate kisses, the brush of their pinkies, the look they shared as Adam drove away, and the bullying behavior that Adam had exhibited for years, Eric can’t guess. 

 

_ “He’s probably lonely,” _ Aimee had said. Eric knew that was true, but why wasn’t Adam reaching out to his friends? Why Eric? And why now? 

 

It’s all so confusing and frustrating. Eric doesn’t know how to feel. The only thing Eric knows for sure is that he wants an explanation. He wants to look Adam in the eye and listen to him say  _ why.  _

 

He also kind of wants Adam to kiss him again. 

 

With a groan, Eric stands. He sets his books in his still open locker and picks up the note with the address. He looks at it for another long moment, memorizing the shape of the letters. It feels like he is holding the key to a mystery in his hands. 

 

Carefully, he folds the note and tucks it into his biology book. Then he packs his bag and leaves to meet Otis at their bikes. 

 

~~~

 

“So, what did Aimee want?” Otis asks once they have left the school and are lazily pedaling towards Otis’ house. 

 

Eric shrugs and twists his handlebars so his bike swerves in a slow S curve. “Just needed to give me something,” he replies. He tries to sound casual. 

 

Otis sees right through him. “What’s up?” he asks seriously. A concerned frown twists his lips. 

 

Eric puts on the brakes, stopping his bike and setting his feet on the ground. Otis stops next to him. Eric really shouldn’t be telling him this - Adam’s threat looms in the back of his mind - but he hates keeping secrets from his best friend. It feels wrong. Besides, Adam had started it by calling Aimee. He may not have told her any definitive facts, but still. He needs to get this off of his chest to someone, and he trusts Otis with his life. 

 

Taking a deep breath, Eric spills everything. The night of the dance, the kisses and the blowjob during detention, the threat, the moment in biology lab, the look on Adam’s face when he left, and now the folded piece of paper with an address on it. Otis listens quietly, his face mostly passive except for a raised eyebrow when Eric confesses about the music room. When he runs out of words, they stand in silence for a long time as Otis mulls over everything he had said. 

 

Finally, Otis lets out a breath. “That’s very,” he hunts for a suitable word. “Complicated.”

 

Eric moans loudly and hunches forward to rest his forehead on the handlebars of his bike. “I know,” he whines. “I don’t know what to do.” He looks at Otis imploringly, trying to woo his friend with killer puppy-dog eyes. “Please tell me what to do, oh wise and all-knowing sex and relationship therapist!”

 

Otis laughs and gives him a playful shove. “Oh, shut up,” he says before his expression turns serious again. “What do you want to do about it?”

 

Eric grunts in frustration. “Come on, man!” he complains. 

 

“No, seriously,” Otis insists. “It sounds like Adam has something he wants to say to you, and considering your complex, erm, history together it could be anything. He’s far from home and probably feeling isolated from the world he knows, so maybe he wants an opportunity to be vulnerable with someone. It’s also possible he’s feeling angered by his isolation and feels the need to lash out.” 

 

“I don’t think he wants to lash out. Wouldn’t he have used his phone call with Aimee to do that?” 

 

Otis shrugs. “I don’t think so. Whatever it is he feels he needs to say, he wants to say it to you. Directly to you, if he didn’t pass a message along.” 

 

Eric turns his head to look out into the trees. He pictures Adam’s face in his mind. He’s seen Adam’s face twisted up into all kinds of expressions. He’s seen him angry, he’s seen him smile. He’s seen his features go gentle just before they kissed. He’s seen sadness, loneliness. 

 

The memory of his sadness, of how endless it had seemed in Adam’s blue eyes as he had driven by, solidifies Eric’s choice. 

 

“I want to know,” he says, his voice quiet. “I want to know what he has to say.”

 

~~~

 

When Adam collapses onto his bunk that night, he’s exhausted. The sergeant seemed extra keen on singling him out all day. He had made him do push-ups for “spending too long in the loo.” He had pulled Adam out of the lunch line to make him answer school questions, then made him run a lap for every answer he got wrong. 

 

During classes, he had caught several of the other lads sending him dirty looks. Occasionally, he heard them whisper his name. He made sure to stuff everything into his locker that night, then shoved his key into his pillow before he lay down. 

 

Despite how tired he feels, Adam can’t sleep. He listens as the boys around him settle into their own beds. Some snore within a few moments of the lights going out. Some toss and turn, rattling the metal of the bunks until they settle in. Adam lies flat on his back. All he wants to do is sleep, but he can’t turn off his mind. It keeps skimming over the events of the day, highlighting every single thing he had fucked up. 

 

He can taste his father’s fury like blood in the back of his throat. 

 

He tries to count sheep, but he can’t focus. When he closes his eyes, the only thing he can see is the sergeant’s face, red with anger. The image flickers until it’s his dad, standing close, fingers digging bruises into his arm as he shouts. 

 

He stares at the bed above him, tracing the cracked vinyl of the mattress and the metal of the bars. His mind drifts to his old school and the people there. He tries to think of Aimee first, tries to convince himself that he misses her, but he knows it’s not true. It hasn’t been true for months, as hard as he had tried to tell himself otherwise. 

 

With a sigh of surrender, he turns onto his stomach and lets himself think of Eric. He feels guilty when he lets his mind wander to him, even though it feels like Eric is always on his mind. After years of being the one who pushed Eric around, he shouldn’t be allowed to humor the fondness that flutters in his chest. He’d had a moment of weakness with the kiss and the biology lab and the call to Aimee, but it wasn’t fair to Eric. Eric, of all people, deserved better than him. Eric deserved better than a stupid, no-good asshole with aggression issues. 

 

He’s selfish though. He likes to think of Eric. He likes to think of how brave Eric is, how he is completely himself. He dresses how he wants, flaunting his sunshine personality with his clothes. The clothes always look stunning against his dark skin, too. Adam likes to think about peeling those bright clothes off of him. 

 

Adam presses his face into his flat pillow and forces that thought away. A shared dormitory is definitely not his preferred location to get a stiffy. 

 

The days that Eric had shown up to school in a plain green t-shirt and jacket had made something in Adam’s chest ache, though he didn’t acknowledge it at the time. Adam still wonders what had happened. He wishes he had asked. 

 

Adam wishes for a lot of things if he’s honest. It’s easier to be honest with himself, lying here in the dark. He wishes he were brave like Eric. He wishes he didn’t take his anger out on other people. He wishes he weren’t here in this stupid military school, surrounded by boys who are as mean as he is and worse. He wishes he could kiss Eric again. He wishes he could talk to him. 

 

When he was thirteen, his dad walked in on him watching porn. Gay porn. The argument that followed had gone on for hours. Adam doesn’t remember much of what was said. He only remembers two distinct things. He remembers his dad slapping him hard across the face and saying, “No son of mine will ever be one of those.” His voice was shockingly quiet after hours of shouting. The chill in his blue eyes had left Adam feeling cold all over, other than the stinging hot palm print across his cheek. 

 

After that, he only remembers indistinct yelling from downstairs. The front door slamming. The car starting as his father drove away. Then his mother had come upstairs. She had looked at him so sadly as she came to sit next to him on his bed. She brushed the hair off of his forehead. “Let’s keep those types of things to ourselves, love,” she said gently. “It’s better if we ignore those kinds of urges, yeah?” 

 

The next day, Eric popped a semi while on the school stage. Adam took the opportunity to call him “Tromboner” and started stealing his lunch money. Adam has wondered ever since if he would have chosen someone else to pick on if that hadn’t happened, or if maybe he picked Eric because he had already noticed the bright boy. 

 

Adam knows he will never get the answer to those questions. He knows it’s already too late, anyways. He’s done what he’s done. Even if he could say, with fervor, that he’s been holding a candle for Eric since back then, his choices have been made. Adam will rot here at this academy. He’ll take everything thrown at him with silence. Maybe he can pay for his sins by suffering the same. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucky for y'all, I shirked work all day to write this chapter for you! I hope you enjoy <3 Thank you for all the lovely comments thus far, I would adore it if you kept leaving em for me!


	4. Dirt and Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for very, very vaguely implied domestic abuse.

Eric tries to focus on the Smash Bros round he and Otis are playing, but it’s hard. In fact, he finds it’s almost impossible. His backpack is tossed in one corner of Otis’ room. Every few minutes, his eyes slide over to look at it without his permission. The note tucked inside is like a siren’s song, begging for Eric to answer its call. 

 

Otis elbows him in the side, breaking Eric’s concentration on the backpack. He wrenches back towards the television screen and lets out a pitiful groan when he sees that he’s lost. Again. “Have some pity on me, man!” he says, elbowing Otis right back. “I’m losing my mind.”

 

Otis rolls his eyes and plucks Eric’s controller out of his hand. “I know you’re in a very deep contemplative state about all this, but you need to relax. Even if you got up to write Adam right this second, it still wouldn’t send until tomorrow, and you certainly wouldn’t hear back for at least another week.”

 

Eric groans and throws himself backwards onto Otis’ bed, flinging one arm over his eyes dramatically. “I  _ know  _ that,” he insists. “I’m  _ trying _ !”

 

Otis falls back on the bed next to him. His bed is small, so they end up laying shoulder to shoulder, hips pressed together. They look up at the ceiling in silence. 

 

“I wish I could just call him,” Eric confesses after a while. “I hate all this-” he waves his hand in the air, “angst! I dislike waiting.”

 

Otis hums in sympathy. “Imagine how I feel. I have to put up with you being a manic twit for at least the next week.”

 

Eric growls and hip checks Otis right off the bed. Laughing, Otis hits the floor with a thump. “I’m gonna get you for that!” Eric shouts. He rolls off the bed and lands on Otis. Otis struggles as they roll, laughing all the while as Eric tries to stuff his fingers against Otis’ ribs where he knows his friend is the most ticklish. 

 

With one arm, he manages to pin Otis’ wrists. He wiggles the other relentlessly against Otis’ side. Tears stream down his friend’s cheeks as laughter echoes around the room. He wiggles, desperate to escape the relentless onslaught. 

 

“Yield! Cry uncle!” Eric shouts.

 

“I yield, I yield!” Otis howls, knocking his knee against Eric’s back. 

 

Eric rolls off Otis immediately so they are lying side by side on the floor. He grins wolfishly as his friend pants for breath and wipes the tears off of his cheeks. 

 

“You’re a devil,” Otis groans, throwing one of his arms over Eric’s face. “I don’t know why I put up with you.” 

 

“Because you love me,” Eric replies immediately, grabbing Otis’ arm so he can shake it up and down. His wrist flops about wildly. 

 

“Yes,” Otis agrees. “For some odd reason.” He pulls his arm back, and when he speaks again, his tone is sober. “It’s gonna work itself out, ok? Whatever happens, you’re gonna be alright.” 

 

~~~

 

Eric bikes home a few hours later. He’s endlessly grateful that Otis is his best friend. A lot of people would judge him for wanting to reach out to someone like Adam. Most people would more than just judge him. They’d probably call him a fool for even considering it. A lot of the people he went to school with wouldn’t even give Adam a second glance, not after all the dumb shit they’d seen him do. And Adam had done a fair amount of dumb shit during their years together. 

 

Eric has started to wonder about all that. It was easy to write Adam off as a repressed, brutish teenage boy, but perhaps there was more to him. Eric  _ knows  _ there is more to him than just the facade Adam had portrayed to the school. The night of the dance had proven as much. 

 

Eric slows his pedaling, then makes an abrupt turn. He bikes to Headmaster Groff’s house. He isn’t sure why he wants to see it, but he does. He pulls up in front of the house and unbuckles his helmet so he can slide it off his head. The upstairs of the house is dark and the curtains are drawn downstairs. He can see a light on, but there isn’t any movement inside. What was it like for Adam in that house? Eric had only dealt with Headmaster Groff the one time, and it had been brief. He’d always assumed that he was just a gruff, uptight guy. After the dance though, after bearing witness to the vitriol in Adam’s words and the hatred in his eyes, Eric isn’t so sure. What interactions did they have that caused Adam to act like that?

 

Eric puts his helmet back on and resettles himself on the seat of his bike. He’s about to put his feet to the pedals to head for home when the door to the Groff residence slams open. Eric jumps. He can’t distinctly hear from where he stands, but the sound of raised voices rings through the air. The front door slams closed, then reopens immediately. Headmaster Groff stands in the doorway. His voice is loud and angry. Unless Adam has a sibling that Eric doesn’t know about, the person huddling on the bottom step of the porch must be Adam’s mum. 

 

_ Time to go,  _ Eric thinks in alarm, putting his feet to the pedals and peeling away. 

 

~~~ 

 

Eric sleeps little that night, and wakes up early. He leaves the house before the the rest of his family is up and around. He bikes to the nearest post drop box. As he stands by the box, white envelope clasped in his hands, he breathes. The stars sparkle above him. The sun creeps up the horizon, casting the sky in soft blue, then bright pink and dusky purple. 

 

_ I hope this letter finds you well,  _ he thinks. Before he can berate himself for being a ridiculous romantic, he presses a kiss to the seam of the envelope before he drops it into the box. 

 

The sky is turning deep blue as Eric bikes off. Maybe Otis will be awake by the time he gets there if he takes the long way.  

 

~~~

 

Adam is face down in the dirt as the sun comes up. A heavy boot digs into his back, grinding him deeper into the grit. He grunts, turning his head to spit out the mud in his teeth. “Are you giving up, Groff?” the sergeant stepping on him sneers. 

 

“No, sir,” Adam pants, digging his nails into his palms. The boot lifts. 

 

“Then get the fuck up and keep running.”

 

Adam stumbles to his feet, his legs wobbling as he forces himself into a jog. He’s been running for hours. The sergeant had come into their dorm to do locker inspections for contraband, and when he had found that Adam’s key was missing off the hook, well. 

 

He draws in ragged breaths as he passes the sergeant; the air rasps in his chest like sandpaper drawn against metal. The taste of blood and dirt coats his tongue and throat. His calves burn as his feet pound along the well packed dirt of the track. 

 

“My gran runs faster than you!” the sergeant yells as he runs past again. “Pick up the pace!” he aims a kick at Adam’s ankles. He misses, but Adam knows he misses deliberately since that’s why he had ended up face first in the dirt last time. 

 

Adam tries. He moves as fast as he can, but he feels his lethargy. He’s bone deep tired. He passes the sergeant again. He wants this to be over. He wants to give up. He keeps pushing. 

 

He passes the sergeant once, twice, three times. On his fourth pass, the sergeant shouts, “Hit the showers, Groff! Turn your locker key in to me tomorrow morning.” 

 

Adam stops running immediately, crouching to put his head between his knees as he gasps for breath. 

 

“Stubborn son of a bitch,” the sergeant mumbles as he ambles off. 

 

Adam stays crouched there for a long time. His legs quake and all he wants to do is fall backwards and lie on the ground. He knows if he does that, he’ll stay there all day. He might even get some sleep. 

 

With a groan, he forces himself up and hobbles to the shower. Every muscle in his body screams as he moves. 

 

The communal showers are blessedly empty when Adam enters. Normally, the showers are brimming with chaos at this time of morning, but today everyone except for Adam is still asleep. Generally, the school is relentless about the schedule, but this is the one day a month that all of that regiment goes to shit. 

 

Today, all of the students get to invite their friends and family to visit them. As long as the visitor is properly annotated on their visitor request sheet, they can come spend the whole day with the student. Some students even get to leave the campus to go eat, if they have performed especially well that month. This is the first one Adam has experienced, but he’s heard the other lads talk. Most of them brag about the sneaky places they’ve found to shag their girlfriends. 

 

Adam doesn’t have anyone coming to see him. For one, he had deliberately lost his visitor request form. For two, he had gotten a single letter from his father, which informed him briskly that he and his mother were “otherwise occupied” during visit day. 

 

Adam leans his head back. The lukewarm spray feels good against his skin. He runs his fingers through his hair, scrubbing the plain soap they had issued him through the short scruff. He misses his long hair. Eric’s fingers had tangled in it so perfectly, and now there isn’t anything there to really get a grip on. 

 

He lets out a long breath. No one will visit him today. Not his mum or his dad, none of his friends from school - not that he has any left - and certainly not Eric. He would hate to see someone so full of life in a place like this anyways. 

 

He shuts off the water and dries himself, then dresses in jeans and a t-shirt for the first time in weeks. When he looks in the mirror, he looks more like himself. The scrapes from the dirt are raw and red on his left cheek. He skims a finger over the deepest one, wincing when he sees the palms of his hands are worse. 

 

Push-ups are going to be a bitch. 

 

~~~

 

By the time he finishes breakfast, visit day is in full swing. Parents, siblings, friends, and girlfriends swarm the yard. The dorms are flooded with laughter. Adam leaves his in favor of meandering through the crowd outside. He sneaks an almost full pack of smokes out of a man’s back pocket, then snatches a lighter from a woman’s purse. On the far side of the campus, he finds a semi-secluded place to smoke them. It’s an ancient football field. The bleachers are rusty and the grass is overgrown with weeds. The net is torn and ratty, limp where it hangs by a few threads from the frame. He settles himself on the bottom of the bleachers, leaning his back against the seat behind him. 

 

As he draws in a lungful of smoke, his shoulders relax. One of the worst parts about this horrible place is he’s not allowed to smoke. Some of the boys deal fags or joints they smuggle in from the outside, but his class sergeant is extra keen on catching Adam doing wrong. If today weren’t so hectic, he would probably have already found Adam and put him on his face. 

 

Adams smokes two as he watches people come and go. A couple, giggling and their clothes dishevelled, stumble past him. They have their arms slung around each other, walking hip to hip. The longing he feels as he watches them doesn’t ease even as he lights up a third fag. He hates admitting it, even to himself, but he is jealous. As short as his time with Aimee had been, and despite how poorly it had ended, he had still enjoyed it. The closeness. The belonging. 

 

They had laughed together and talked on the phone for hours, enjoyed the sound of each others voices and revelling in the company. Occasionally, he would sneak out to meet her at the park. Once he had fallen off the swings. It had been fun. 

 

He wants that again. A connection. A real connection. 

 

His train of thought is derailed when a sergeant trots up to him. He’s the class sergeant for one of the younger boys’ dorms. From what Adam can tell, he’s a relatively new hire. He’s seen the more seasoned sergeants coaching him on what ‘real discipline’ looks like. 

 

“Groff!” the sergeant says, trying to sound stern as he eyes Adam’s lit cigarette. “You’re not supposed to be smoking on campus. It’s against the rules.”

 

Adam makes eye contact with him and brings the cigarette up to his lips. He takes a long drag. 

 

The man signs, but doesn’t push. Rubbing his temples like an overworked parent, he says, “They’re looking for you in the administration office. You’ve got a letter.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit later than I intended, but enjoy!


	5. Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam gets Eric's letter. 
> 
> Warning for violence and blood mention.

Adam sits on the bleachers for a long moment after the sergeant leaves. His mind is a whirl of excitement and anxiety. Is it Aimee? Did she actually post him Eric’s address? Maybe he actually has a chance to put all of these things in his head to paper. Maybe he can actually attempt amends, even if it’s too little too late. 

 

The thought makes his heart leap while his stomach clenches. 

 

He forces himself to take a deep breath. He needs to get himself in check. It might not even be from Aimee. It could very well be another brusque letter from his father, or maybe even a response about all of the negative report cards he’s received thus far. He hasn’t heard anything about them from his dad yet, but he knows that it’s coming one way or another. 

 

Standing slowly, he stabs out his cigarette on the metal of the bleachers before dropping the still smoking butt on the  ground. He walks. He takes long, deliberate strides, trying to keep his breathing and heartbeat even. The possible contents of the letter loom over him; it’s like a thunderstorm on the horizon, clouds deep and rolling with lightning. It could bring him much need rain, a relief from the heat he feels inside. Or it could bring him harsh winds, destruction, and anger. 

 

He’s at the door of the administrative building before he’s really ready. Compared to the bustle of people outside, it’s blessedly quiet. A woman with brown-rimmed glasses and short cropped red hair sits behind a desk. The door chimes when he steps inside and she looks up. 

 

“Can I help you?” she asks with a polite smile. 

 

“I have a letter?” he rasps. He clears his throat. 

 

“Name?”

 

“Groff. Adam Groff.” 

 

She nods and stands. “Just a moment.” She turns to the wall behind her. It's a honeycomb of little wooden compartments. Each has a paper placard with names written in tiny, neat script. “Groff, Groff, Groff,” he hears her mutter as she skims a pink nailed finger along a row of names. “Ah! Here we are.” She plucks a letter from the inside of the box. She turns, smiling triumphantly. She steps forward and holds the letter out to him. 

 

Adam takes it. His hands shake. “Thanks,” he says, holding the letter up so he can see the front.  _ Adam Groff,  _ and his address is printed neatly across it in blue letters. There is no return address in the upper left corner of the envelope. His heart skips a beat. The handwriting certainly does not belong to his father, and he doesn’t think it belongs to his mother. 

 

His palms begin to sweat. 

 

He knows it’s not Aimee’s handwriting. She never uses anything as standard as a blue or black pen. She much prefers pink or purple, especially if it’s got a hint of glitter. 

 

His heart hammers. 

 

“Are you quite all right?” the woman asks. His head snaps up. “You’ve gone pale. Do I need to get the medic?” 

 

“I’m fine,” Adam says, even though he doesn’t feel fine at all. He shakes his head vigorously. “I’m fine.” 

 

He turns sharply and leaves. The door slams shut behind him. Panic climbs up his spine, clawing at his chest. Who had Aimee given the address to? What had she said to them? Was this some kind of prank letter? Why else would there be no return address? 

 

He stumbles forward, his legs trying to take him back to the football field. A woman bumps into him as he steps directly into her path. 

 

“Watch where you’re going!” she snaps shrilly. 

 

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Adam says. His breathing shakes. He needs to calm down. Even if this is a letter from someone who is not Aimee, even if it is a prank letter, what does it matter? He takes a few halting breaths, but each one hitches tightly in his throat.  _ It doesn’t matter,  _ he thinks, trying to convince himself. It won’t matter what Aimee tells people, or what rumors are spread in the school. He’s here now, and what they say about him doesn’t matter. 

 

_ It doesn’t matter,  _ he thinks again.  _ It doesn’t matter.  _

 

Unless a rumor gets back to his dad. 

 

He doesn’t humor the thought. He stuffs the letter into his pocket and forces his mind to go blank. He won’t think about it. He just needs to go back to the bleachers, light up a fag, and read the letter. That’s the only way he’ll know for sure what’s inside. He just has to go to the bleachers. 

 

He makes his legs move. The letter feels like a weight in his pocket. It burns a hole straight through his clothes to singe his skin. He wishes he could run, but his legs protest even the thought. 

 

He weaves in between the crowd of people. It’s thinned considerably since post-breakfast, and Adam wonders idly to himself if it’s getting close to lunchtime. One of his hands stray into his pocket, thumbing across the seam of the envelope. 

 

The walk back to the bleachers seems to take much longer than the walk from them. 

 

When he gets there he sits down hard, harder than he intended to. The old metal rattles and groans in protest, creaking beneath him. He yanks his hand out of his pocket, letter clutched in his fist. He needs to open it now, before the panic of the unknown consumes him. The swirling emotions in his chest are already almost too much. He flips the envelope over and pulls on the seam before running his pointer finger along the inside, neatly tearing the paper. 

 

A shuddering breath leaves his chest as he pulls out the single sheet inside. He unfolds it. His body goes still. His breath catches in his chest as his eyes latch onto the name written at the bottom. 

 

Eric.

 

The letter is from Eric? 

 

A breathless laugh escapes his throat. A smile tugs forcefully at the corners of his mouth. 

 

Aimee had given Adam’s address to Eric, and Eric had written him a letter. 

 

He could shout, he’s so happy. All of the anxiety falls from his shoulders. He feels light. 

 

_ Adam.  _

 

His name is written in tight, smooth script at the top of the page. His name is written in Eric’s handwriting. 

 

_ Adam,  _

_ I know that maybe you would prefer to have the ball in your court, so to speak, since your original intention was merely to get my address mailed to you via Aimee. I, however, have never been very good at being patient, so when she gave me the aforementioned information, I knew I had to write to you first. Hopefully that’s fine, because I’ve done it anyways.  _

_ I don’t know why you wanted my address. Considering I’m sitting at my desk and writing to the enigma that is Adam Groff, the probabilities are truly endless. Perhaps you wanted to write to me because the opportunity to steal lunch moneys at your new place of residence is severely lacking. If that happens to be the case, I regret to inform you I will not be posting you any lunch money. And no, threats will not be a particularly effective argument to your case, considering the circumstances.  _

_ If this is the case, no response is required, unless you intend to discuss a payment plan to repay the lunch moneys you previously nabbed from me.  _

 

“Oi! Groff!”

 

Adam’s concentration on the letter breaks abruptly. His head lifts. The redhead he had confronted a few days ago stands in front of him. Unlike most of the other students, he's wearing his uniform. It’s rumpled and creased, and mud and grass stain the knees. 

 

“What’re you smiling about?” he demands. “Get a letter from your girlfriend or someat?” 

 

Any lingering smile on Adam’s face fades. Defensiveness wells up in his chest and his fingers tighten on the letter. 

 

“No, then?” the boy asks. “A boyfriend?” he cackles, a cruel gleam in his eyes. “Knew you’d be a freak, fucking faggot. Is that why your daddy shacked you up here? Thought maybe they could beat the AIDs right out of you?”

 

Rage, hot like a blazing fire, pours through him. Heat throbs in his veins. In his mind’s eye, he sees this punk ass piece of shit on the ground. He sees his skin splitting beneath his fists. He sees the spray of blood when Adam breaks his fucking nose. 

 

Paper rips. He looks down. He’s standing, but doesn’t remember getting up. The letter from Eric is grasped tightly in one fist. His eyes lock on one word. 

 

_ Adam.  _

 

The rage dies instantly. Instead of blood, he sees Eric in his mind. He sees him smile brightly.  _ I don’t want to be like this anymore,  _ he thinks.  _ I want to be better. I want to deserve someone like… _

 

He lets the thought go. He sits back down on the bleachers. 

 

“Not gonna hit me, faggot?” the other boy demands, voice mocking. 

 

“No,” Adam replies. He smooths the paper against his knee. The rip is minor. 

 

He sneers. “You’re weak,” he goads. “Get up and hit me.” 

 

“No.” Adam replies forcefully. “I don’t want to.”

 

The boy growls. “Can’t even square up like a proper man. What’ve you got hidden under your trousers, mate? Not a dick, bet.” 

 

“Go away,” Adam says. “I’m not interested in fighting you.” 

 

The boy spits on the ground. “Pussy,” he snaps, then turns on his heal and stomps off. 

 

Adam closes his eyes. He lets himself breath slowly for a long, long time. He listens to the distant hum of laughing families, to the sound of bird calls as they fly overhead. He listens to the sound of his own heartbeat as it slows in his chest. He runs his fingernails over the metal of the bench so he can hear the rasp. 

 

He reaches for the cigarettes and lighter in his back pocket and places one between his lips before lighting up. He takes in a drag, savoring the feeling of smoke filling his lungs. When he exhales, he opens his eyes. He watches the cloud drift. It thins, then dissipates. 

 

_ Ok,  _ he thinks.  _ Ok.  _

 

He looks down at the letter. He reads. 

 

_ But perhaps you wanted to write me for an entirely different reason. Perhaps it’s because you’ve been thinking about detention just as much as I have. I’ve been thinking about that particular chain of events a lot.   _

_ Whether it be good, or bad, or in between, I want to hear what you have to say. Maybe that makes me a touch mental, but I don’t care. I want to know. I want you to tell me.  _

_ So, here I am. I’m listening, Adam Groff. I see you.  _

_ Eric.  _

 

Adam reads the letter again, another smile forming on his face. The letter exudes Eric’s energy. If Adam had doubted it at all, the wording, the pure buoyancy of it, speaks the truth. Adam even dares to think that Eric is flirting with him a bit.

 

Eric had written this letter. He’d sat down and composed it, just for Adam. 

 

Adam flips the letter over. On the back in tiny letters is an address. Each letter is carefully formed, as if Eric had wanted to make sure they were legible. 

 

“I’ve never seen you smile like that before.” 

 

Adam looks up. The boy who he’d helped stands there, hands shoved deep into his pockets. His his head is tilted downwards as he studies Adam through his eyelashes. 

 

“Yeah, well,” Adam starts, but the boy cuts him off. 

 

“Can I bum a fag?” 

 

Adam shrugs and holds out the pack. “Sure.” 

 

The boy smiles shyly. He sits next to Adam on the bench and takes one from the pack. Adam passes him the lighter. 

 

“I’m Lee,” he says. 

 

“Adam,” Adam replies. He lights his own cigarette, since it had gone out while he read Eric’s letter. They smoke in silence, side by side. For the first time in a long time, Adam lets hope bloom in his chest without trying to snuff it out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Truly, loves, your comments give me strength. Thank you for all of the nice things you guys have said so far, they make me feel so happy!


	6. Five and Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam gets some letters. Eric gets some too.

“You didn’t have to steal the envelope, ya know,” Lee says to Adam. “I have a box of them in my locker, you could have just asked.”

 

“We’re not friends,” Adam says, but his voice is muffled by the swollen and bloody lip he sports. He is currently sitting on the bleachers, head tilted back and fingers pinching the bridge of his nose to try to get it to stop bleeding. His mouth tastes like copper. 

 

“That’s fine,” Lee agrees. “I ‘spose if we’re not friends, you don’t want the tissues I brought you.” 

 

Adam opens his left eye, the one that isn’t swollen. Lee is standing next to him, a handful of white tissue held in one hand. Adam groans and snatches the tissues from him, swiping the blood off his lips and chin. “Shut up,” he groans. 

 

“You could say thank you,” Lee replies, settling next to him on the bench. “Bryan really got the drop on you, didn’t he mate?”

 

Bryan sleeps on the bunk above Adam’s. He’s a short, thick lad that packs a harder punch than Adam expected. 

 

“Tapping me on the shoulder and then punching me when I turn around is cheating,” Adam grouses. He drops a bloodied tissue on the ground and presses a fresh one to his dripping nose. 

 

“You stole from his locker,” Lee reminds him. “Is your nose broken?” 

 

“No.”

 

“How would you know? Have you broken it before?”

 

Adam grunts affirmative in response, wincing as blood slides down the back of his throat. 

 

“Beastly.” 

 

They sit in silence as Adam dabs at his lip. The blood finally stops, so he slowly leans forward. He presses a careful finger to his eye. It’s swollen and he bets the bruise is horrendous. 

 

“Did you need the envelope to write your boyfriend?” Lee asks. 

 

They’ve already had this conversation. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

 

Lee nods. “Yes, yes. Did you need the envelope to write him?”

 

“Yes. Who else would I be writing? My imaginary friend?” Adam asks sarcastically. He drops the handful of bloodied tissues to lay on the ground next to the other one. He sniffs cautiously. 

 

Lee had been stuck to Adam’s side like a burr ever since the visit day. Adam had tried to keep him at arm’s length, but it had been a futile effort. Once he had decided he wanted to be Adam’s friend, it was literally impossible to keep him away. They had started talking. First, it had been completely one-sided as Lee talked at him. Then, slowly, Adam had started talking back. Lee didn’t seem to mind if Adam was prickly and closed off, and he always let Adam’s snappy comments roll right off of his shoulders. 

 

“You’ve been writing him for a while,” Lee comments, scooping up the bloodied tissues and stuffing them in his uniform pocket. “What do you talk about?”

 

Adam shrugs and stands. “We have class.” 

 

Lee follows Adam as he heads towards their next class. “Sarg is gonna ask what happened to your face. You’re gonna get in trouble for fighting again.” 

 

“I didn’t fight,” Adam argues, but he knows Lee is right. “I got punched.”

 

“For stealing. That’s worse than just fighting.” 

 

“It was just an envelope.” 

 

“An envelope you could have just asked for.” 

 

“We’re not friends,” Adam repeats. 

 

“Sure,” Lee agrees. 

 

Lee is right, the sergeant is furious that Adam has been fighting again. He doesn’t mention the envelope, so Bryan must have been satisfied enough with a punch to not tell. The sergeant rips Adam a metaphorical new asshole in front of their class that afternoon when they form up for evening exercises, then sends him to the medic. The medic, in Adam’s opinion, is a useless sack of shit. He checks to make sure Adam’s nose isn’t broken, then sends him out to join his class on their run. 

 

His face throbs as his runs. He makes himself breath through his mouth even though he hates the feeling of the dry air rasping over his tongue. He hopes his nose doesn’t start bleeding again. When he’s finished, he forms up with his class. The sergeant puts them through endless dull marching drills before releasing them to dinner. 

 

Lee finds him immediately. Adam doesn’t know how the kid does it, but he shows up at Adam’s side within seconds of being allowed to walk about freely. He’s like a magnet. 

 

“Do you want me to cover for you so you can finish your letter in the bathroom stalls again?” Lee asks as they walk to the chow hall. 

 

Adam scowls at him. “No.” 

 

“Mk,” Lee says. “So you finished your letter?”

 

“Some of it. During classes.”

 

“Sneaky! Is he coming up to see you during visit day this month?”

 

Adam pulls up short, startled by the question. “What?”

 

Lee stops a few paces in front of him and turns, surprised by Adam’s surprise. “Visit day? Not this weekend but next weekend? Is he coming to see you?” 

 

“Absolutely not,” Adam blurts out. 

 

“Why?”

 

Adam shakes his head. His lips thin and his teeth clench. “It’s not possible.” 

 

“Why not?”

 

“Do you ever shut up?” 

 

Lee shrugs and motions for him to keep walking. “If you don’t get a move on, all of the hot food will be gone.” 

 

Adam forces himself into motion. There is absolutely no way that Eric could come visit him. There is absolutely no way that Eric  _ would  _ come visit him. They’re still on shaky ground. With every letter, Adam feels more confident in what could be considered a blooming friendship. Some of that friendship is mixed with a bit of flirting. He’s gotten seven letters from Eric, but only been able to send four. Even though he’s constantly being hounded by the sergeants, Adam still feels a twinge of guilt that his letters are so short and sparse. He plans on using the visit day to write the longest letter he can. 

 

Eric’s letters are one of the only things that have kept Adam going. His sergeant finds new and creative ways to torment him every day. His classmates heckle and harass him in small ways that progressively get bigger the more Adam ignores them. His mother hasn’t contacted him at all, and the only other letter he has gotten from his father has been a stern ‘we’ll be having a discussion over summer about your poor, ill-mannered behavior.’ Adam figures that’s code for broken bones, can’t leave the house, and, if he’s extremely unlucky, a last minute enrollment for a summer camp. 

 

Since the first letter, Eric has been a week by week constant bright spot. Every Tuesday like clockwork, he’s been called to the administrative office to retrieve a letter. He gets it before dinner, scarfs his food, and then hides in the toilets to try to read it before the sergeant comes for nightly dorm inspections. Sometimes Lee covers for him. Sometimes it even works. Other times, he’s dragged out of the toilets by the ear, the letter hastily shoved into his pants. 

 

He keeps the letters hidden in his locker, tucked underneath his neatly folded tighty-whities. The sergeant doesn’t hesitate to rip everything else out of his locker, but he leaves his ‘personal’ belongings alone. Personal, in his sergeant’s mind, boils down to undergarments and deodorant. 

 

Adam sits down at one of the four person tables, Lee beside him. They eat breakfast and lunch on rotations, but for dinner all of the classes are stuffed into the same room. Each class sergeant trolls the aisles between the tables, occasionally pausing to prod or make a comment to one of the lads. During the other meals, they normally leave them all alone, but supper is fair game. Adam keeps his head ducked and his eyes lowered as one of the sergeants pass. 

 

“Why won’t you ask him if he’ll come to visit day?” Lee whispers when the sergeant is out of earshot. His voice is so quiet, Adam barely hears him. He’s perfected the art of speaking while keeping his lips almost completely still. 

 

“It’s complicated,” Adam whispers back. “Please shut up.” He shovels chicken and peas into his mouth, hoping to get the hell out of here before a sergeant turns his attention onto him. He really wants to finish off his letter to Eric tonight. 

 

“It’s not that complicated. One of the lads helps in the administrative office at times. He’ll file a visitors form for you if you can fake a parental signature.” 

 

Adam rolls his eyes. “None of our classmates are gonna help me.” 

 

Lee shakes his head minutely. “He’s not in our class. He’s in a younger year and spends a lot of time in the admin office,” he glances around, then leans in a hair closer. “Asthma.” 

 

As if Adam cares. “He won’t come.” 

 

“Groff!” 

 

“Shit,” Lee says, echoing Adam’s thoughts. 

 

“Sir?” Adam asks. He sits up straighter and cranes his neck to look into the big sergeant’s eyes. 

 

The man gives him a deceitfully friendly smile. “Having a nice chat over supper, are we?” 

 

“No, sir,” Adam replies. 

 

His eyes narrow, even though though the smile stretches wider. “I see,” he says. He slams a fist down on their table, rattling the dishes. Adam catches his water glass before it topples, though Lee isn’t so quick. “Keep the chatter,” the sergeant says, leaning in close to Adam’s face. “ _ Out  _ of the chow hall.” 

 

“Yes, sir,” Lee and Adam echoe at the same time. 

 

“Good.” He straightens, tucks his hands into his uniform pockets, and strolls on. 

 

Lee lets the topic drop. Adam scarfs the rest of his food, then drops his tray off at the poor schmucks stuck with kitchen duty for the day. He leaves at the trot, his thoughts on the letter in his rucksack. 

 

~~~

 

There is a letter on Eric’s bed when he gets home. He lets out a woop, resulting in one of his sisters shouting for him to keep it down. He scoops the letter up and falls into a graceless heap onto his bed. 

 

_ Fifth letter from Adam, fifth letter from Adam!  _ He sings in his head, pressing the envelope to his chest as he kicks the bed with his heels excitedly. Adam’s letters had come slowly over the past weeks, slower than Eric would have liked, but he savored each one. They were short and generally brisk, but each of them made Eric feel like he was catching a peek into some secret world that no one else had seen before. 

 

Otis had rolled his eyes at Eric more in the past few weeks than he’d ever rolled his eyes in his entire life.  _ Insufferable  _ had become Eric’s new nickname, but it didn’t bother him. It was always accompanied by an affectionate side hug or shoulder poke. 

 

Eric hops up and closes his bedroom door before sitting down at his desk. He opens the letter, unfolding it’s single page. Adam’s handwriting is sloppy, and switches from pen to pencil every few sentences. From what Eric has gathered so far, Adam writes him with a pen when he’s sneaking sentences in class, and with pencil when he’s at his dormitory. 

 

_ “Eric, _

_ My last pencil ran out of lead. Lee had a spare that he gave me. It’s a horrible shade of bright yellow with orange spots. I’m sure you’d love it. He told me his little sister gave it to him before he left home. I didn’t know Lee had a sister.  _

_ I woke up this morning and all of my socks were in the toilets. It was rather annoying, since I thought the sergeant was keeping my key still. I guess he hung it back on the wall without tell me. Must have been tired of throwing it at me when he comes in to wake us all up. Lee’s socks don’t fit because his feet are tiny. I’ve started keeping spares of everything in his locker. _

_ I finally got a letter from my dad. My sergeant must have written something particularly nasty in a report card. I’m apparently coming home for summer break, which is in a couple of months. He mentioned having a conversation when he sees me next, which will probably be during summer since he has yet to imply he will be coming for a visit day.  _

_ Do you remember when I broke my arm in second year? I told everyone some rubbish story about a motorbike accident. That was one of my dad’s ‘conversations,’ so I’m not sure what to expect for summer. Hopefully he won’t ship me off to a camp. I’d like to sneak out and have a bit of fun.  _

_ How did your quiz go? Did your sister lose her tooth finally? How did family photos go? Maybe you could send me one, if you’re getting small prints. Did Otis finally beat  _ Breath of the Wild _? I miss video games. I hope he lets you play it over once he’s beaten it.  _

_ Yours, _

_     Adam _

_ P.S. What are you doing over summer break? There’s a park near my house.” _

 

Eric sets the letter on his desk and pulls out the other four he had gotten in the past weeks. He lays them out carefully, in order that he received them. Each of them were written in the same sloppy penmanship, and each of them was topped with “Eric” and signed with “Yours, Adam.” The first one had been particularly short. 

 

_ Eric,  _

_ I don’t have a lot of time to write. Our class sergeant has it out for me. He always seems to know when I’m doing something he can yell at me for.  _

_ I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I’ve been a right twat over the past four years. You didn’t deserve to be treated like that.  _

_ I hope everything is going alright with you. That’s an appropriate thing to say in a letter, right? I’ve never written someone a letter before. I’ve never been very good with words, I guess.  _

_ Were you flirting with me in your letter? It seemed like it.  _

_ Yours, _

_     Adam _

_ P.S. I’ve been thinking about detention.  _

 

Eric practically has the words memorized. When he had first read it, his heart had leaped at the  _ P.S.  _ He had written back the night he had gotten the letter. He tried to be brief about it, but he had written a letter almost two pages long. The words had just spilled from his hand, talking about everything he could think of. Commenting on what Adam had said and asking questions. He knew Adam probably couldn’t answer all of his questions, at least not all at once, but the connecting the pen to paper felt good. It felt like he had a link to Adam that he didn’t have before. 

 

Each one from him has tiny little droplets of information that Eric soaks up like a sponge. Otis tells him he overthinks everything said to him in the letters, but he really can’t help it. Adam had been such an enigma, and this was almost like meeting a whole person that Eric didn’t know. Eric wants to know. He wants to know everything. 

 

He stacks the letters up so the newest one is on top. He pulls out a fresh sheet of paper and a pen. 

 

~~~

 

“This is Headmaster Groff speaking.” 

 

“Hello, Mr Groff. This is Sergeant Laney. I’m sorry to bother you during school hours.”

 

“It’s no problem. What can I help you with?”

 

“It’s not urgent, but I was informed of a circumstance that you might be interested in. It’s not anything I can write up in formal reports, thus the call.”

 

“I see?” 

 

“Adam has been receiving letters recently, from another lad named Eric. They’ve come every week for the past two months.” 

 

“And what are the contents of these letters?” 

 

“We don’t read the lads’ letters, sir, unless a parent or guardian suggests it might be in their best interest to do so.” 

 

“Ah. I understand. Let me have a conversation, and then I will get back with you.”

 

“Of course, Mr Groff. Thank you for your time.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my pals! Thank you for all of your comments over the past week. Unfortunately, my laptop has gone out, so I will only be able to update once a week. I am hoping to make the chapters a bit longer, but no promises.


	7. Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of past abuse

_ Dear Adam,  _

_ This will be the last letter I write to you. I’m sorry for everything.  _

 

Eric sets his pencil down on his desk, his hands balling into fists against the cool wood. He stares at the words in front of him, written in slow, crisp penmanship. Each letter is deliberate. 

 

_ I can’t do this,  _ he thinks, and tears well in his eyes.  _ I don’t want to.  _ He doesn’t want to think so highly of himself to imagine that a letter like this would crush Adam, or hurt his feelings, but he kind of thinks that it might. The short letters from him had been enlightening in so many ways, bits and pieces of Adam spread across the pages that no one had seen but him. Snapshots of his life that only Eric was privy to. Things that had taken Adam more courage to put onto paper than he would probably ever admit. 

 

_ “I’m not threatening you, Mr Effiong.”  _

 

Eric takes a shaky breath and scrubs his hands over his eyes. He has to do this. He has to. He picks up the pen again and pulls out a fresh sheet of paper. 

 

_ Adam _ , he writes, but his hands are shaking now. The name looks wobbly and frail on the white sheet. He throws the pen down and shoves away from the desk, his breaths short and fast. He presses his head to the desk and squeezes his eyes shut tightly. 

 

_ “I’m not threatening you.” _

 

He’d only ever been to the headmaster’s office once before today, after he had punched Anwar in the face. During that visit, Mr Groff had been brisk and calculated. The situation had been cut and dry, black and white as far as Mr Groff was concerned, but today. Today had been different. When he had stepped into Mr Groff’s office, the air inside had been cold and heavy. Mr Groff’s face had been impassive, emotionless. His voice hadn’t fluctuated at all when he had leaned forward in his chair and said,  _ “Eric Effiong. Please, have a seat.”  _ His tone hadn’t changed when he had said,  _ “I’m not threatening you, Mr Effiong.”  _

 

“Eric!” 

 

Eric startles and stands abruptly. “Yes, Ma?” he calls. His voice is off, too high and warbly. He clears his throat and turns towards the door, pulling it open to call again, “Yes?” 

 

“You’ve got a letter, love,” she’s halfway up the stairs, and envelope in her hands. She’s smiling, but it fades when she sees his face. “What’s wrong?” 

 

“Nothing!” He insists, trying a smile of his own. It feels awkward, stretching too thin on his lips. “Nothing’s wrong, Ma.” He steps out of his room to meet her, and takes the letter from her hands. “Thank you.”

 

She nods. The corners of her eyes crinkle in concern. “Are you sure, darling? Do you feel unwell?” 

 

He shakes his head. “Just a bit tired,” he tries and she nods. 

 

“Have a rest before dinner,” she suggests. She puts her hands on his shoulders and pulls him in for a hug. She lets him go and turns go go back downstairs. One of his younger sisters is shouting for her attention. He hopes she forgets about him and doesn’t come to check on him. 

 

When she’s out of sight, he looks down at the letter in his hands. Adam’s familiar handwriting is scrawled across the front. He holds it carefully as he wanders back into his room and closes the door behind him. His heart hammers in a way that is not entirely pleasant. His stomach twists with anxiety. With trembling fingers, he flips the letter and pries the flap open. He removes the letter, eyes watering. 

 

_ Dear Eric,  _

_ I’ve been thinking about summer. I’d really like to see you. I know that maybe that might be too much, considering all that I’ve done to you in the past. Letters are a small thing, a safe thing, so I understand if you don’t want to see me. I’d like to spend time with you in person, though. Hear your voice. Listen to you talk. Maybe I can apologize in person. I could maybe even start to make up for all of the shit things I did.  _

_ Don’t feel pressured to say yes. If you don’t want to, I’ll accept it. I’m happy that you’ve been willing to talk to me at all. I like talking to you, and I like getting letters from you. Lee says I smile like an idiot when I get one. Lee’s a moron, so don’t let it go to your head.  _

_ There are a lot of things I want to tell you. I wish I had more time to say them to you. I really hope I can try to say them to you in person. I’m still sorry for everything.  _

 

Eric’s lower lips starts to tremble. His eyes spill over. He lets out a breath that sounds like a sob. He hasn’t finished the letter, but he carefully folds it up. He walks over to his desk and slides it into the drawer where he keeps all the others. He traces a finger over the small stack, chest hitching and hands shaking. 

 

He shuts the drawer. Her presses his fists against it. His knees feel weak. His heart feels like it’s breaking. Tears slide down his cheeks, faster and faster. 

 

“I can’t,” he whispers. “I can’t.” 

 

~~~

 

Eric tells his mum that he’s sick when she comes upstairs to call him for dinner. He keeps his face hidden underneath his duvet. She coos over him for a moment, promises to bring him some soup later, then disappears downstairs. She leaves the door open a crack so he can still hear his own family’s chaos as they eat together. They bicker and laugh, their voices slowly increasing in volume as his sisters battle for attention. 

 

Eric wishes they would shut up for once. 

 

He had only been in Mr Groff’s office for a few moments. Their one-sided conversation had been short, brisk. 

 

_ “Eric Effiong. Please, have a seat.”  _

 

_ “You wanted to see me?” _

 

_ “Yes, thank you for coming. It’s been brought to my attention that you have been exchanging correspondence with my son.”  _

 

Eric had known at that moment that something was wrong. Mr Groff’s face hadn’t changed, and his voice had been pleasant and polite. But Eric could see the warning lurking deep in his eyes. 

 

_ “I recommend that you stop.” _

 

_ “I-I’m not sure I understand what you’re saying.”  _

 

_ “What I’m saying is that you need to cease all communications with my son. Immediately.” _

 

The disgust in his eyes had been clear for a moment before he had stood and leaned forward, towards where Eric was sitting. Eric had been stunned, frozen like a deer caught in headlights. 

 

_ “If you don’t, there will be consequences to deal with.”  _

 

_ “Are you threatening me?”  _

 

Eric wishes he had sounded brave, combative. That his voice had come out defiantly. Instead, he had sounded weak and afraid. He was -  _ is  _ \- weak and afraid. He didn’t know what to do in the face of Mr Groff then, and he certainly doesn’t know what to do now. Not with the threat of the unknown hanging over him. 

 

Mr Groff’s response had been almost smug. The corner of his lips had lifted just a bit, and something cold was in his eyes. 

 

_ “I’m not threatening you, Mr Effiong.” _

 

The very slight emphasis on  _ you  _ had made the breath leave Eric’s lungs. 

 

_ “Have I made myself clear?”  _

 

_ “Yes, sir.”  _

 

_ “Perfect. You’re dismissed.”  _

 

When Eric had stood to leave the room, Mr Groff had retaken his seat. He had tears in his eyes then, and his throat had been closing up with panic and terror. 

 

_ “Oh, and Mr Effiong?”  _

 

The doorknob had been cold under Eric’s fingers. Mr Groff’s polite voice had frozen him in his tracks. 

 

_ “I’ll know if this continues. Adam’s class sergeant reports everything back to me. Everything.”  _

 

Eric had fled. 

 

Laying in bed now, curled up tight beneath his duvet, Eric can still feel the terror inside of himself from the conversation. It shivers in his gut like a living thing, a cold blackness threatening to swallow him. He doesn’t know the whole story, only bits and pieces that he can cobble together from Adam’s letters, but he knows that Mr Groff is not a good person. The hidden threat that he had issued out certainly wasn’t aimed at Eric, but at Adam. 

 

Eric curls up tighter under his blankets, fingers twisting anxiously in the fabrics around him. He can’t stand the thought of causing something horrible to happen between Adam and his father. He also can’t stand the thought of just cutting Adam off. They had made progress with their letters, progress that Eric thought was a good thing. Even though Adam came across as angry and prickly in some of his sentences, Eric could feel him opening up. The tiny insights, the more open thoughts, the sharing of past life events… Eric read it as Adam maybe healing, at least a little bit. 

 

Eric knows he needs to think this through, but it’s so hard. Somewhere wrapped up in the complex feelings he felt towards Adam was a desperate desire to keep him safe. His knee jerk reaction had been to cut Adam off immediately with a goodbye letter, effectively shutting him out, but that obviously hadn’t gone so well. Why isn’t there an easy answer? 

 

Eric sniffs and wipes his eyes. He feels drained and exhausted, but there is still a tremor of terror gripping his spine. What will Mr Groff do if he doesn’t stop writing the letters? He doesn’t really want to examine the possibilities. 

 

Adam had mentioned some things in his letters that Eric didn’t make mention of when he responded. He wasn’t sure how to respond. He hadn’t flat out said that his father had broken his arm, but it was certainly implied. Was that the kind of thing that would happen if Eric didn’t stop?

 

The thought sent Eric’s insides turning. What other injuries had Adam sported through the years that hadn’t been the outcome of an accident? 

 

Eric threw the blanket off of himself and stood up. He couldn’t just lay here thinking like this. It was too heavy. It was too  _ much.  _ He couldn’t protect Adam no matter what he did. He couldn’t stop Mr Groff if he kept writing the letters, and if he  _ stopped  _ writing the letters…

 

If he stopped writing the letters, the Adam underneath all of those layers of anger and brutishness would go away. If he stopped writing them, he wouldn’t be able to keep unlocking those secrets. Eric would lose the Adam that had reached out his hand in Biology and gently, oh so gently, brushed their pinkies together. 

 

Eric wants to scream. Instead, he pulls on a jacket and quietly sneaks down the stairs and out the front door of his house. He gets on his bike and pedals in a familiar direction. 

 

He needs Otis. 

 

~~~

 

Aimee lays flat on the grass next to Maeve. The sun has already gone down and the stars are out full force, twinkling up above them. Maeve is pointing out various constellations, but Aimee is only half listening. 

 

“Did you hear Eric was called to Headmaster Groff’s office today?” Aimee says when Maeve trails off. 

 

“Nope,” Maeve replies. “What for?”

 

“I’m not sure. No one has been talking about it. The only thing I heard was that he looked really upset when he left.” 

 

Maeve plucks a handful of grass, letting the blades slide through her fingers. “What do you think happened?”

 

Aimee shakes her head. “I can’t shake the feeling it has something to do with Adam.” 

 

Maeve sits up and squints at her. “Why would it have something to do with Adam?” 

 

Aimee gives her friend a guilty smile. “So remember when we talked about giving Adam Eric’s address?” 

 

Maeve frowns. “You didn’t.”

 

Aimee shakes her head. “No! But it was bothering me all day, so,” she trails off and sits up, pulling her knees to her chest. “When I saw Eric in the hall, I gave him the address I had written down. It seemed like the best solution.”

 

Maeve lets out a huff. “That was a good compromise, I suppose. Do you think Eric wrote to him?” 

 

Aimee shrugs. “I think so. I haven’t heard from Adam since then, so I don’t know for sure. But Eric gets these looks sometimes, in class? These far off looks like he’s thinking really hard about something.”

 

“Would Headmaster Groff have a problem if they were writing to each other?” 

 

They sit in silence, both contemplating the answer to that question. 

 

“Yes,” Aimee finally says, quietly. “I don’t know Headmaster Groff very well, but Adam,” she bites her lip. 

 

“Adam what?” 

 

“I just. I’ve never really talked about this. Adam always hated it when I asked him questions about his family, and he never really liked having me at his house.” 

 

Maeve shrugs. “It doesn’t make much of a difference now.”

 

“I suppose. Adam and his father don’t really have a, like, father son type bond you know? Whenever they talked in front of me, it was always clipped or strained. I guess I always just assumed that Adam had pulled a stupid prank or failed a quiz and his father was angry over it.” 

 

“But now you don’t think so?”

 

Aimee shakes her head. “You know Adam has a sister?”

 

Maeve laughs. “No way. He’s never once mentioned having a sister.  _ You’ve  _ never once mentioned he has a sister.” 

 

“He does!” Aimee insists. “I always thought it was kind of strange because there are pictures of her all over their house. Adam is in a few of them, but most of the pictures he’s in is of him when he was just a baby.”

 

Maeve considers this. “What specifically are you getting at here?” 

 

Aimee lets out a sigh. “I guess I’ve just been thinking about everything. How he sounded on the phone, all of the stupid things he’s done, this whole,” she waves a hand in the air, “thing with Eric. The night of the dance, and then being sent away. I just have this feeling that there is something bad going on with Adam and his dad, and now I feel like I’ve roped Eric into it by giving him Adam’s address. I’m worried about them.” 

 

“Adam can take care of himself, and Headmaster Groff can’t do anything to Eric, not really.” 

 

“Can Adam really take care of himself though? I’m not saying anything is going on for sure, but if something is going on, can he really do anything?” 

 

Maeve nudges her shoulder. Her voice is gentle. “You can’t do anything about it, even if something is going on.”

 

Aimee sighs and leans into Maeve. “I know, but I worry. Adam can be shit, and I know you think he’s not a good person, but he’s not all bad.”

 

Maeve shrugs. Her phone chimes. She picks it up and reads the text she just got. One of her eyebrows lifts. “It’s Otis,” she says with some surprise. She shows Aimee the phone. 

 

“Speak of all the devils,” Aimee breaths as her eyes skim over the text. “Are we gonna help him?”

 

Maeve laughs and stands, offering a hand to help Aimee to her feet. “Maybe.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I did not proof read this at all oops. Once I have time tomorrow evening I'll go back through and check it, but for now... Sorry in advance.  
> 2\. Sorry I didn't update over the weekend! I worked this weekend so it was rough getting this done. But I have a fresh, shiny new laptop now so I'll be updating more frequently!  
> 3\. I'm also working on some Adam/Eric oneshots! If you guys have any ideas or prompts absolutely feel free to DM them to me because I am so down with writing more of them. 
> 
> Love you guys!! Thanks for reading!
> 
> 4\. Edit: I edited the chapter, so it should be less error free now lmao You guys are so stunning, all of your comments are lovely! Thank you guys for reading, seriously, it means the world to me.


	8. Mystery

“This is absolutely not a good idea,” Eric whispers, peering over Otis’ head around the corner. 

 

“Shhh,” Otis hisses, elbowing him in the ribs. “Be quiet!”

 

Eric jabs him back. “You be quiet!” 

 

“No you!” 

 

“Seriously?” another voice says from behind them. 

 

They both jump. Otis slams his head into Eric’s chin. They tumble apart groaning, Eric pressing a hand to his chin and Otis clutching his head. 

 

“You probably broke my jaw!” Eric whimpers, stumbling into Otis dramatically. “You’re such an asshole.” 

 

Maeve, who had come up behind them, rolls her eyes. “Will both of you knock it off? You’re so ridiculous.” 

 

Otis straightens and brushes off his shirt, flustered. “Is Aimee on her way?”

 

The three of them stand in the darkened hallway of the school. After Eric had crashed Otis’ house a few nights before, in tears and distraught with indecision, Otis had decided to call an emergency clinic meeting. It had been a surprise when both Maeve and Aimee had shown up, but it had worked out for them. At first, Eric had felt awkward about Aimee being there. They hardly knew each other, plus the potential complications of her once having dated Adam and now Eric kind of sort of flirting with Adam through written letters. It had turned out really well though, and now they were here. 

 

“Yep,” Maeve says, pulling her phone out of her pocket. “She texted me a few minutes ago. She’s on her way,” she tucks it back into her jeans and gives Eric a look. “Are you sure you want to do this?” 

 

“Yes,” Eric says firmly. “I want to.” 

 

“If Headmaster Groff ever finds out, you’re gonna be screwed.” 

 

Eric grins wildly. “Maybe,” he says with a shrug. “Worth it.” 

 

She sighs. “You’re nuts.”

 

“Maybe, but you’re helping me. So what that does make you?”

 

“Fair point,” she concedes. They both freeze for a moment as the sound of quick footsteps reach their ears. They all relax when Aimee turns the corner and into view. 

 

“Sorry I’m late!” she says with a wave, skidding to a halt next to them. “Did you bring the stuff, Maevey?”

 

“Maevey?” Eric snickers as Maeve unslings her backpack and unzips it. She gives him a glare as she pulls out a plastic bag of thin metal strips and passes them to Aimee. 

 

Aimee grins as she takes them, then sneaks to the corner of the hall and glances around. When she confirms that there is no one around she dives across the hallway and presses her back against the wall next to Groff’s office door. 

 

“No one is here,” Maeve reminds her.

 

Eric grins. “No, but if we’re going on a top secret mission we might as well play the part.” He mimiks Aimee, peering out and around into the hallway before doing a fairly impressive tuck and roll across the floor, popping up and pressing his back flat against the wall next to Aimee. “Otis, come on!” he encourages in a loud whisper. 

 

Otis glances at him and then at Maeve before shrugging his shoulders and diving across the hallway. He tries to roll like Eric, but ends up flat on his back at Eric’s feet, grinning up at him with a laugh. 

 

“Dorks,” Maeve comments as she casually strolls across the hallway. “Got the door, Aimee?”

 

Aimee nods, opening the bag of pick locks and kneeling in front of the handle. 

 

“This is gonna sound lame,” Otis starts, “but as a suggestion, we could maybe try the handle first?” 

 

“Don’t be silly!” Aimee scolds, digging a hand through the picks and selecting a few. “It’s obviously going to be locked.” 

 

Otis scowls and reaches over her shoulder to turn the knob. The door swings open without fanfare. 

 

Aimee whines in frustration. “Spoil sport! I haven’t gotten to pick a lock in so long.” 

 

“Maybe the second door will be locked,” Otis offers with a wry smile. 

 

The second door is not locked, and despite Aimee’s clear disappointment, Eric can’t help but be a little glad. Being in Mr Groff’s office with the lights off feels ominous somehow. Otis, Maeve, and Aimee had been a huge support to Eric the night after his ‘conversation’ with Groff. Aimee and Maeve hadn’t batted an eye when he layed out the whole story, and he had told them everything.  _ Everything.  _ He had cried through some of it, but Aimee had just wrapped her arm around his shoulders and said,  _ “Everything is gonna be ok, Eric.”  _

 

“Ok,” Maeve says once they’re standing inside with their phone flashlights on. “We need a good sample of Groff’s handwriting, and his home address if we can find it.”

 

“Adam might still have a school file!” Eric suggests, turning towards the large wooden cabinet tucked toward the back of the room. 

 

“I’ll start with his desk,” Aimee says. 

 

Otis follows Eric to the filing cabinet, and together they hunt through the second drawer until they find a neatly labeled folder:  _ Groff, Adam.  _ Eric hefts the folder out, clutching it with both hands. “For fucks sake,” Eric grouches. The file is thicker than his biology textbook. 

 

Otis grins at him as they set the file on the ground and crouch beside it to flip it open. “Still certain about your life choices?”

 

“Shut up,” Eric grouches. “People change.”

 

Otis taps his nose with a finger, then reaches down to flip through the file. The pages inside are disorderly, stuffed to the brim with notes from teachers and discipline logs. Otis shuffles through page after page until he reaches the back, where there are several sheets of enrollment forms. He extracts the sheet with Adam’s home address on it then stands. Eric stands with him.

 

“Got the address!” Otis tells Maeve, handing her the sheet of paper. 

 

She takes it, then hands it to Aimee. Aimee squints at the paper in the dimn lighting. “We found a report Groff wrote,” Maeve tells Otis and Eric. “Do you think you can copy it, Aimee?”

 

She nods and moves towards the desk. Maeve hands her a sheet of paper from her backpack, as well as a black pen. They stand around her, aiming their phone flashlights so she can see what she’s doing. Eric watches in amazement as she writes the address in her own neat handwriting, and then begins to reference Headmaster Groff’s report as she writes it again. She writes it several times, and each time she does her writing morphs. 

 

“Wow,” Eric whispers in amazement. “You’re a girl of many hidden talents.” 

 

Aimee throws him a wink. “A girl has to have her hobbies.” she writes the address a few more times, then nods in satisfaction. “Envelope?” she asks. Maeve hands her an envelope and Aimee writes the return address. Eric hands her one of the envelopes he received from Adam, and she repeats the process with the mailing address. When she’s done, Maeve scoops up the report and the envelope to examine them.

 

“You’re stunning,” she tells Aimee. “Excellent work, love.” 

 

Aimee grins back at her and flicks her hair over her shoulder. “Thank you, I do try.” 

 

“Is there a stamp in one of the drawers?” Eric asks, opening a drawer to the right of where Aimee is sitting and beginning to rustle through it. 

 

“Be careful!” Maeve admonishes. “You don’t want to move too much stuff around or he’ll notice Monday morning.”

 

“I’ll put it back!” he replies, fingers digging through a pile of candy bars. Towards the bottom of the desk he finds stamps, as well as a stack of reports, all with Adam’s name on them. He stills for a minute, confused. He shifts aside more of the candy. The paper on the very top is labeled with Adam’s personal information - his full name, a school issued identity number, a home address and mailing address - but the rest of the sheet is typed out in neat, bullet point format. Eric’s eyes skim over the words, heart sinking in his chest. 

 

 

  * __Instigated a fight with two other boys. Broke one of their noses__


  * _Looted several lockers, clogged toilets with uniforms_


  * _Failed maths quiz_


  * _Bullied/harassed bunkmate - reportedly shoved him during morning run_



 

 

The list went on like that for most of the page. Each item made Eric’s stomach churn. 

 

“Eric?” Otis asks, but his voice sounds terribly far away. 

 

What if Eric is doing all of this for nothing? What if the Adam he sees on paper isn’t an accurate reflection of Adaml? Could this really be an elaborate trick, after all this? Was Eric letting himself be played? 

 

A hand grips his elbow gently. He looks up, his eyes glazed with tears again. He expects to see Otis, but it’s Maeve instead. Her face is serious, but there is kindness in her eyes. “Don’t take it at face value,” she says gently. 

 

“What else am I supposed to take it as?” Eric slams the drawer shut and yanks away from her. “It makes sense, doesn’t it? After everything else he’s done, doesn’t it make more sense?” 

 

Maeve opens the drawer and shifts the candy aside so she can pull out the top sheet. She holds it out to Eric. “You have to trust your instincts. Look at what’s on this page and think about what Adam has said in his letters.”

 

“You don’t even like Adam,” Eric retorts, eyes scanning over the page again. “You don’t think he’s a good person.” 

 

“He’s not,” Maeve says with a shrug. “But people don’t stay the same forever. Sometimes things happen, and they change. Just because he wasn’t a good person before doesn’t mean he’s not trying to be better, and it doesn’t mean he can’t ever be a good person.”

 

“It’s not always how people say, either,” Aimee chimes in. “Sometimes the way things are told aren’t actually how they happen.” 

 

Eric takes the page gingerly in his hands. He scans over it, trying to find something familiar. “I never read all of Adam’s most recent letter,” he admits. Even after they had sorted out a plan - a plan that came in more than one phase - Eric hadn’t been able to do it. He wishes he had now, so maybe he could recognize some of the events listed in front of him. He steps up to the drawer and opens it again, pulling out all of the papers inside. He shifts through them until he finds something familiar. “Trainers in the toilet,” he murmurs, looking up at Maeve. “Adam told me some of the other lads in his class did that, during the first month he was there.” 

 

Maeve shrugs. “You have to make your own conclusions about it,” she says, taking the papers from his hands and tucking them back into the drawer. “And hopefully you can ask him for yourself.”

 

~~~

 

Lee is surprised when they announce that he has a letter waiting for him at the administration office. He doesn’t get letters from home. His sister is too young to write them, and his mother isn’t capable of doing so. 

 

He’s sitting next to Adam in morning assembly, and he feels how tense his friend becomes when they finish up without calling his name. Thursday had come and gone last week without Adam receiving a letter from the mystery boy he had been writing. Lee wishes he could help, but nothing he’s tried so far has cheered Adam up. He’s been broody and sullen for days, but Lee can see through his prickly exterior. 

 

Adam’s feelings are hurt. 

 

During lunch, Lee leaves the table early to go fetch his mail. He feels Adam’s eyes watching him as he goes. He knows if he looks back, he’ll see every emotion Adam is feeling in those blue eyes. Lee has told him more than once how bad he is at veiling his inner turmoil, but Adam generally responds with a  _ “Fuck off, Lee.”  _

 

Lee wishes he knew more about Adam. He’s been a tough nut to crack, despite Lee practically forcing his way past all of the walls he’s put up. He won’t talk much about the boy he writes, he won’t talk much about his family or his friends, and he won’t talk much about how he feels when shit happens around school. Sometimes, Lee can get a response out of him that adds another piece to the puzzle, but normally he has to catch Adam by surprise. 

 

Like the other day when he had asked if the boy was going to visit Adam on visit day. The idea had stopped Adam right in his tracks. Like he was shocked Lee would even think it. Like he was  _ stunned  _ that Lee even thought it was possible. Maybe to Adam it wasn’t possible. Whatever was going on between Adam and his mystery lad, he seemed to be convinced that the feelings he harbored weren’t mutual. 

 

Lee scoffs at the thought. He has a pretty good idea of what those feelings are, and he also knows for a fact that they’re mutual. He’s never set eyes on any of the letters, but no one in their right mind sends multiple pages to someone on a weekly basis if they don’t feel something for the recipient. 

 

Which makes Lee think that something must have happened. He would bet cold hard cash that Adam thinks it has to do with something he said in his last letter. He blames himself for it, and is probably angry about whatever risk he took. Lee highly doubts that is the case. Adam doesn’t send his letters carelessly. He puts more thought into those bloody things than he puts into any of his schoolwork. He wouldn’t ever write something in the letters that would be too far. Whatever too far was. 

 

The whole thing is a mystery, but Lee knows he’s a smart kid. He’s going to figure this out if it kills him. 

 

He retrieves the letter from the administration office. When he looks at the return address, he can’t help but smile, just a little. 

 

“A mystery indeed,” he muses to himself, tucking the letter into his rucksack. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want Aimee and Eric to be part of the Otis and Maeve gang. You know how many ridiculous adventures they would get into together? 
> 
> I'm going to be flipping back and forth between new chapters and some Eric/Adam oneshots. Possibly a gratuitous make out fic next because I love those, but also possibly an AU where Eric and Adam have been friends all along... We'll see!
> 
> Thanks for your comments and kudos as always, darlings! You keep my motivation strong.


	9. Disappointment

Adam stares at the blank page in front of him. The pencil in his hands swings back in forth as he fidgets with it. Mr Wolt, their mathematics teacher, is up front walking them through how to solve some kind of problem, but Adam can’t focus. He’s been trying to be better about paying attention in classes - maybe if he gets good marks his dad will let him come home for good - but today he just can’t. It’s been two weeks since he’s heard from Eric. He doesn’t know what he did wrong. 

 

The feeling he’d had while he was in assembly that morning had lingered over him all day. They had called out the names of those who had letters waiting for them at the administration office. Adam’s name hadn’t been one of them. At first he had only felt numb, then angry, first at Eric and then at himself. Then, to his embarrassment, his eyes had started to burn and his face had gotten hot as disappointment settled in his gut like a brick. 

 

He sets his pencil to the paper, intending to write Eric’s name at the top of the page, but he makes himself stop. If Eric doesn’t want to talk to him anymore, he shouldn’t pressure him by continuing to send letters. He wishes he could demand answers from him, but that would be unfair. He’d letting himself get his hopes up and now he was paying for it. He should have known better than that. He’d fucked it up, just like he always did, and now Eric didn’t want anything to do with him.

 

A note lands on his desk from behind. He glances up at Mr Wolt, who is still yammering and writing quickly across the board. He unfolds the note.  _ Are you ready for visit day?  _ It asks in Lee’s unmistakable blocky script. Adam scowls at the letters, scrawling a hasty reply and refolding it before flicking it back over his shoulder. 

 

Lee has been getting on his nerves the past week. He had mentioned visit day multiple times and it made Adam feel like strangling him. He didn’t understand  _ why  _ since neither of them expected visitors. But it kept coming up, over and over again, and Lee was like a dog with a bone. He just wouldn’t let it go. Sure, it would be a break from all of the strict routine, but Adam still dreads seeing all of his classmates happy with their respective families and friends. 

 

The note lands back on his desk and he glares at it before flicking it open.  _ Maybe it will be fun ;)  _ it says. Adam would kill for an open flame so he could just light it on fire. If he knew he wouldn’t get caught, he would whirl around in his desk and glare at Lee. 

 

Every time Lee asked about it or talked about it, it felt like someone pressing on a bruise in Adam’s heart. It hurt even more now that Adam hadn’t gotten a letter back from Eric. He had looked forward to maybe rereading all of the letters and writing out at least as many pages as Eric had sent him in return. But now he couldn’t do that. The lack of letters was as good of a rejection as Adam deserved. 

 

Maybe he had pressed too hard about spending time together over summer? He had been combing his thoughts, trying to remember what exactly he’d said. He knows he asked. Was it too much, too soon? Was Eric happy just to keep him at arm’s length? He thought he was prepared for that, prepared for the possibility that Eric only liked him on paper and didn’t want to actually be with him in person. He had been so wrong. It hurt worse than any broken bone or bruise or cut he had ever gotten in his life. 

 

The burning feeling in his eyes falls back over him, but he blinks hastily to force it away. He needs to stop dwelling on it until he’s safe in his own bunk, where he can press his face into his pillow and mope in private. 

 

~~~

 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?” 

 

Eric stands in front of the mirror in his bedroom, considering his outfit. He’s changed four times already, trying to find something lowkey but also bright in preparation. It’s harder than he expected.

 

“Otis, it’ll be fine. Honestly.” 

 

Otis stands and begins pacing the room again. He wrings his hands in front of him. “I could just ride along with you on the bus,” he says. “I’ll find a diner or, I don’t know, a bookstore or something to hang out in for a while. It wouldn’t be a problem, I’m sure mom won’t-”

 

“Otis!” Eric interrupts. “I’ve told you a million times, it’s fine. Did you get the letter mailed for me?” 

 

“Yes,” he replies, but the question doesn’t distract him for more than a few seconds. “Seriously, I can go with you. Just in case something happens!” 

 

“What exactly do you think is going to happen that will be so bad?”

 

“I don’t- I mean- Really, Eric, that’s so -” Otis stutters to a halt. 

 

“Is it because of Adam?” 

 

“I just don’t know about all of this!” Otis says defensively.

 

Eric puts his hands on his hips and turns, glaring at his friend. 

 

Otis puffs out an anxious sigh and collapses back on Eric’s bed. “I know you’re willing to give him a chance,” Otis starts, “but I’m just worried it won’t be how you think in your head. We’ve come up with the overly complicated plan, and you’ve been writing him and building up this new idea of how he is, but what if you get there and it’s not… He’s not…” 

 

Eric sits down beside him. “It’s not how it seems? He’s still the same old Adam who bullied me and shoved me into lockers? The Adam they write about on the report cards?”

 

“Yeah!” Otis grabs Eric’s wrist, looking at him with pleading eyes. “What if he hurts you?” 

 

Eric sighs and shoves at Otis’ shoulder. “Move over,” he gripes. When Otis does, he lays down next to him so they’re shoulder to shoulder. “I’ve already thought about all of that. That’s all I’ve been thinking about for weeks. What if he’s lying? What if he’s trying to get some sort of twisted revenge? What if he doesn't mean anything he’s said in his letters? What if what if what if? I’m tired of what ifs, Otis. I want to see him, face to face, so I know for sure.” 

 

“What if something happens, though?”

 

“Is this about my birthday?”

 

Otis stiffens up next to him, and Eric knows he’s hit the mark. 

 

“Otis, honestly.”

 

Otis sits up on his elbows so he can look directly into Eric’s face. “I just don’t want something bad to happen to you. I wasn’t there for you last time and I can’t change that, but I want to be there for you if something like that ever happens again.” 

 

Eric grabs Otis’ hand, squeezing gently. “I know,” he whispers. “But it’ll be fine, ok? I’ll be fine.”

 

Otis collapses back onto the bed, a groan of frustration leaving his lips. “But what if it isn’t?”

 

“It will be,” Eric insists. “No matter what happens, it will be.”

 

They lay there in silence for a while, their hands loosely clasped together. 

 

“He might break your heart,” Otis whispers. 

 

“I know.”

 

~~~

 

Lee feels nervous energy humming beneath his skin when they are roused on Friday morning. It’s the day before visit day, so his entire class is practically vibrating with excitement. After their morning exercise, breakfast, and a shower, they all settle into morning assembly. Adam slumps beside him, arms crossed over his chest. The energy of the students around him clearly has no effect on Adam’s increasingly sour mood.

 

Lee nudges his arms and whispers, “Visit day tomorrow!” 

 

Adam rolls his eyes. The muscles of his jaw go tense as he grits his teeth. “So what?” he mumbles. 

 

Lee arches a brow. That’s a new response. Normally Adam would tell him to shut the fuck up or just roll his eyes and leave it at that. “It’ll be fun,” Lee presses. “Everyone is always in such a good mood for visit day, even the sergeants.” 

 

Adam sinks lower in his chair, a deep furrow in his brows. He doesn’t humor Lee with a response. 

 

They call the room to order and start by listing the names of those with letters waiting. Lee listens intently, watching Adam. His friend’s face is completely neutral, but he can see the hurt in his eyes as each name flits by. 

 

_ Poor idiot,  _ Lee thinks to himself. It had been a struggle for him to keep this particular secret, especially as Adam’s mood got worse and worse. The few barriers Lee had managed to wiggle past had been put back up, and now he struggled to get anything out of Adam other than surly, single-word replies. He was clearly upset. He would never say it, but Lee guessed he was at least a little heartbroken over Eric’s lack of letters. 

 

Eric. Lee finally knew the mystery boy’s name, no thanks to Adam and his secretivity. The letter he had received had been from Eric, laying out a few of the details that Lee had been missing in the grand puzzle that was Adam Groff. Now it all made more sense in Lee’s head. Eric had explained briefly about Adam’s father and their rather complex relationship, then had explained why he wasn’t writing letters. He had then pleaded for Lee’s help in seeing Adam. 

 

It had been simple, in Lee’s mind. Eric wanted to talk to Adam, but had been forced into a corner. If they couldn’t exchange letters, then Eric needed to see Adam in person to explain things. 

 

Lee had been happy to help. He used his connections, and his uncanny ability to forge his mother’s signature, and had submitted a brand new visitor request form. Listed on it was his mother and his sister - both whom would never visit - and one Eric Effiong. 

 

“Adam Groff,” the sergeant reads out mechanically, finger tracing down the list from the front podium. 

 

The change in Adam is immediate. He sits up straighter and his face loosens in relief. The fists he had pressed to his thighs relax. Lee nudges him and smiles. Adam even smiles back. 

 

_ Poor idiot,  _ Lee thinks again. He’s so blinded by his own insecurities that he has no idea how much Eric genuinely likes him. 

 

~~~

 

Adam shovels his lunch into his mouth as fast as he can without choking. He’s gone two weeks without hearing from Eric but he just knows that this letter is from him. It can’t be anyone else, it simply can’t. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if it’s his dad instead. 

 

When he rises from the table, Lee grins up at him, his eyes glinting mischievously. “Catch up with you in a bit, lover boy.” 

 

Adam can’t even bring himself to care about the playful jab. He hurries towards the administration office as fast as he can go without attracting the attention of any stray sergeants. Anticipation makes his palms sweat. When he gets there, the woman behind the desk recognizes him. They don’t say anything to each other as she smiles and retrieves his letter. 

 

He takes it from her and exits the building quickly, jamming it into his pocket without looking at it. He wants to be somewhere private before he opens it. He slides into one of the stalls of the bathroom at his barracks. When he looks at the front of the envelope, his heart sinks. 

 

The handwriting on the front of the envelope is clearly his father’s. There’s no mistaking it. His eyes burn and he rubs at them in frustration.  _ This is what you get for hoping,  _ he thinks angrily. He considers tearing the letter apart and flushing it down the toilet, or getting the lighter out of Lee’s locker and setting it on fire. Something to ease the uncomfortable, roiling feeling in his gut. 

 

Instead, he begrudgingly opens the letter and slides out the single page inside. “I regret to inform you that your mother and I-” he whispers to himself sarcastically as he unfolds it. The words die on his tongue. 

 

_ Dear Adam, _

_ I’m so sorry I haven’t written to you. It’s complicated. I swear I’ll explain as soon as I can. I didn’t want to stop writing to you, but I kind of had to.  _

_ Lee is great, by the way. You should appreciate him more (make sure you tell him I told you that). _

_ I miss talking to you, even if it’s just in letters.  _

_ I’ll see you soon.  _

_ Love, _

_    Eric. _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder what could possibly happen next..........
> 
> You guys are absolutely stunning!!!! I'm at 99 comments, 381 Kudos, and 208 subscriptions and honestly guys? That is the BEST feeling in the world! I can't even begin to thank you guys for your unrelenting support while I muddle through this fic. Hopefully you'll stick with me to the end.


	10. Meeting

Eric fidgets nervously in his seat. The bus he is on rumbles steadily down the road, the green and browns of woods flitting by his window. Occasionally, it rolls past brightly coloured houses that dot the countryside. He stares blankly at all of it, lost in thought as he gets closer and closer to his destination. 

 

He’s nervous. He wishes he wasn’t nervous. He’s so tired of cycling through the never ending ‘what ifs’ in his head. It’s exhausting. He knows that this might be his one chance to get a clear vision of who Adam is or who he is becoming, to see past the mask that Adam had worn. He’d caught glimpses already, in the letters, but he wanted to see in person.

 

Lee’s letter back had been enlightening. Adam wrote sparingly about the things that went on at the military academy, often glossing over events with brevity, but Lee had been straightforward and blunt. He had told Eric about their first meeting, when Adam had forced the other boys to stand down from the game they had been playing. About how Adam had been shoved for it, then punished by the sergeant for being last. He had told Eric about the arrival of his first letter, and how broadly Adam had smiled until Will, another boy in their class, had spoken to him. He explained about all of the other small cruelties that their classmates inflicted upon Adam. Eric had felt a swell of pride in his chest when Lee told him that Adam always stood his ground but hadn’t raised a fist in weeks. 

 

Eric believes that Adam is changing. He hadn’t been sure for a while, especially after reading the report cards from the school, but now he’s positive that it’s true. Adam isn’t the same person he had been when he left. Something is different in his head, in how he is choosing to deal with things. 

 

Amongst all the nervous energy wreaking havoc in his bones, there is a hot fire of excitement. He gets to see Adam, in front of him, in person. He’ll get to say what he thinks out loud, instead of putting it into words on paper. He’ll get to hear Adam say his own thoughts back. He hopes that Adam will kiss him again. Maybe Otis is right, maybe Adam will break his heart. Perhaps they’ll spend this one day together and Adam will decide that all of the veiled affection he expressed in his letters isn’t real, that they aren’t meant to be together or can’t be friends. 

 

Eric doesn’t care. That’s future Eric’s problem. For right now, he wants to savor this day. He wants to see Adam. 

 

~~~

 

It’s early. The sun just peaks into the sky. It lights up with streaks of pink and purple, slowly brightening as the minutes tick on. A breeze makes the tattered net of the football goal flutter. Adam watches as smoke curls from his lips. He’d barely slept last night, he’d been so nervous thinking about today. He still couldn’t believe that Eric was coming to see him. In a few hours, he would be here, real and alive, and right in front of him. Close enough to hear. Close enough to touch. Close enough to kiss. 

 

He presses the cigarette to his lips and breathes in, listening to the crackle of tobacco leaves burning. It tasted stale on his tongue. 

 

“Hey.”

 

Adam’s heart stutters as he looks up. It’s just Lee. “Hey,” he says. 

 

“Couldn’t sleep?” Lee is dressed in just his pajama bottoms, rubbing his eyes with a tired fist. 

 

“Nah. Anxious.” 

 

He chuckles as he settles next to Adam on the bench, sniping the almost empty pack of cigarettes and lighter from Adam’s lap. “I bet.” 

 

They smoke together in silence as the sun climbs higher in the sky. Warmth from its rays settle over Adam’s skin. Yesterday, after he’d read Eric’s letter, he’d almost gotten both of them in trouble. He’d waited outside the dining hall until Lee had appeared, and then dragged him into one of the narrow alleyways between buildings to demand the whole story, since Lee was clearly the mastermind of this plot. At the time, Adam had been furious. Eric shouldn’t be in a place like this, Eric didn’t want to see him, what had Lee said to convince him to come, what if his dad found out? The questions and concerns had spewed out of him rapid fire as he held Lee by the collar of his uniform against the rough brick of the building. He’d been shaking, his whole body trembling from the fact that Eric was  _ coming to see him. _

 

Lee, that fucker, had just raised one eyebrow at him and asked, like it was the easiest thing in the world,  _ “Don’t you want to see him?” _

 

Lee made everything about this situation seem so simple. Eric wanted to see Adam, Adam wanted to see Eric, so they should see each other. Like it was a math problem, 2 + 2 = 4. It was infuriating, but Adam couldn’t help but be grateful. He couldn’t see this going well, but at least he would have a chance to tell Eric all of the things inside of his head without the awkward barrier of paper and lack of time to write. 

 

“Whatcha thinking about?” Lee asks once he’s finished his cigarette. He presses it out against the bench and flicks the butt away. 

 

“How much of a fucking moron you are.”

 

He laughs. “Still on about that? Get over yourself and just enjoy the day.”

 

Adam wants to believe that it really is as simple as Lee makes it out to be. See Eric, enjoy his presence, talk it out, find an empty closet to kiss in, whatever, but he just can’t see it going that well. He’ll say something or do something to fuck it up like he always does and then he’ll lose Eric more than he already has. 

 

“You’re so fussy,” Lee complains, elbowing him sharply in the ribs. Adam grunts as his elbow catches on a bruise. “Get your head out of your ass and stop making it complicated. Eric likes you. He wants a chance to forgive you for your dumb shit. So stop being an idiot.” 

 

“What exactly did Eric tell you?” Adam growls, rubbing his throbbing ribs. The redhead and his cronies had shoved Adam so he fell on the edge of a bench a few days back. 

 

Lee gives him a sly grin. “Oh you know,” he flutters his fingers in the air. “Just a few of your secrets.” 

 

“You’re the worst.” 

 

“Sure,” he agrees. “But who do you have to thank for your boyfriend’s visit?”

 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Adam says. “Please don’t call him that.”

 

Lee studies him with eyes that are too inquisitive for Adam’s taste. He hadn’t noticed it before, but it felt like Lee was seeing straight into his soul when he looked at him like that. 

 

“I won’t,” Lee agrees after a while. “I get it.”

 

Adam wants to ask him what exactly it is that he ‘gets’ but he doesn’t want to know the answer. 

 

“What’s he like?” Lee continues when Adam doesn’t answer. “What do you like about him?”

 

“He’s smart,” says Adam immediately, then winces. “I mean, that’s none of your business.” 

 

He rolls his eyes and sighs dramatically. “Drop the act already. Just tell me about him.”

 

Adam hesitates, then gives in. “He’s smart,” he says again, his voice quiet in the still, morning air. “And bright. Like a candle in a dark room. He cares about people, and he’s not afraid of anything. Even when I was- Even back then, he always saw me. Maybe he even saw through me. He laughs so loud, it’s infectious.”

 

“Let me guess,” Lee interrupts. “You can hear his laugh above every other noise in the room, you always see him in a crowd, and,” he droops languidly against Adam’s shoulder, fluttering his eyelashes with a teasing grin. “When your eyes meet, your heart bursts in your chest because you’re so in lo-”

 

Adam elbows him roughly, making Lee topple the other way with a groan. “You’re so full of shit,” he grumbles, leaning so his forearms are pressed to his knees. 

 

Lee chuckles. “I shouldn’t have asked. I didn’t realize you were such a sap, Groff.” 

 

“If you say that in front of him, I will murder you in full sight of the sergeants.”

 

“A death I will gladly suffer,” Lee grins. 

 

~~~

 

The military academy looks like a prison. The wall around it is brick and topped with barbed wire. Eric can only gape up at it as he approaches. A group of people stand in front of the closed gates, talking and laughing among themselves as they wait to be allowed entrance. The front gate is ornate wrought iron, cold, thick, and imposing. Eric wonders what Adam thought, being brought through this gate on his first day. What was he feeling?

 

The gate makes a clunking sound and begins to whir as it slides aside to admit the crowd standing outside. From Lee’s letter, he had learned that those traveling by bus were admitted half an hour earlier than those coming by car to help avoid congestion. He follows the group in. A man in a light brown uniform that is heavily decorated with ribbons and medals welcomes them. He smiles broadly, his white mustache thick above his yellowing teeth. He shakes each person’s hand as he ushers them into a tall building made of brick that matches the wall. 

 

When he gets to Eric, he pauses. An eyebrow tilts curiously above his brown eyes. “Good morning!” he greets, voice friendly. “I don’t think I’ve welcomed you to our campus before. Who are you here to see?”

 

“Lee Hamilton,” Eric recites immediately. “I’m his cousin.” 

 

“Ah, good good!” the man replies, and a weight drops off of Eric’s shoulders. “Just head into the officer’s building here to check in, and then someone will retrieve Hamilton for you.” He clasps Eric on the shoulder with a fond smile. “So glad that boy has someone to visit him. He’s been spending an awful lot of time with one of our more troubled lads, so maybe you can put him on a better path!” he squeezes, then turns to the next person behind Eric. 

 

Eric follows the small family in front of him to the building. Inside, there is a large reception area. Several other men in brown uniforms wait next to a desk where a woman with red hair shuffles through forms and looks at IDs. When she matches the IDs to the paperwork in front of her, one of the men leads the person or group of people out another door. 

 

Eric waits in line, trying to quell the butterflies in his stomach. He had skipped breakfast this morning because he was afraid he might just puke it right back up with nerves. When he gets to the front of the line, he hands over his school ID with shaking fingers. 

 

“Who are you here to visit?” the woman asks with smile. 

 

Eric smiles back. “Lee Hamilton.” 

 

Her smile brightens as she shuffles through the paperwork on her desk. Eric’s heart pounds. Lee had said the visitor request form would be there and that he would have no problems getting in as long as he brought a photo ID with him. 

 

She pulls out a sheet and reads over it, then looks at his ID. “Moordale?” she asks. “We just had a student transfer from there a few months ago.” she hands back his ID and quickly fills out the visitor request form with his time of arrival. She looks up and waves over one of the men in uniform. “Lee Hamilton,” she tells him before she turns back to Eric. “Have fun!” 

 

Eric nods and turns to the man. He’s tall and thin. He’s frowning at Eric, his brows pressed together. “This way,” he says, gesturing towards the front doors. “Welcome to the school. Have you been before?” 

 

“No,” Eric tells him, making himself walk forward. His nerves are getting to him now. He can feel his knees shaking as he walks. The trembling in his hands worsen, so he presses them into the pockets of his jacket. “This is my first time.” 

 

The man doesn’t smile. His voice is deep and almost too loud, even though Eric doesn’t think it’s intentional. “Lee Hamilton is one of my students,” he says. “He’s a good lad. Are you related?” 

 

“Cousins,” Eric replies. One of his students? Does that mean this man is Adam’s class sergeant? Eric really hadn’t been able to grasp the exact hierarchy that reigned at this school, but he knew that Adam’s class sergeant meant bad business. 

 

“Really,” the man says flatly, holding the door open so Eric can step into the light. They are in a central courtyard, surrounded by the families that had been in front of Eric. The noise and energy level is high as they greet the students. The buildings that circle the courtyard are all tall and regal, lined with neatly trimmed bushes and blooming flowers. “Wait here,” the man commands. 

 

Eric complies, taking in the sights around him. One of his hands drifts from his jacket pocket to fiddle with the strap of the backpack he’s carrying. He watches Adam’s class sergeant as he strides swiftly down a path that lead between two of the tall buildings. Shorter buildings, squat and brick, lay beyond it. They seem to be formed around a dirt running track. 

 

His eyes search the faces of the people milling about in the distance. One of them is Adam, he knows, but he can’t wrap his mind around Adam being in a place like this. The flowers add a colorful touch to an otherwise dark and dreary landscape, and he imagines on days without outside visitors it’s even more monotone with everyone dressed in the same tan uniform. 

 

The sergeant walks down the path towards him again, a boy at his heels. He’s short, shorter that Eric, with close cropped black hair, light brown skin, and huge hazel eyes. Eric can only assume that this is Lee, but he waits nervously. When they get closer, Lee breaks into a trot to pass the sergeant, then throws his arms around Eric in a tight hug. “Cousin!” he exclaims loudly as the sergeant watches on. “It’s been so long, I’ve missed you!”

 

Eric hugs back, watching the sergeant out of the corner of his eyes. He stares at them for a second longer, suspicion on his face, then turns to head back to the building Eric came through. 

 

“Is he gone?” Lee whispers. 

 

Eric nods against his shoulder. 

 

“Good,” he pulls back, holding Eric at arm’s length. A grin slowly creeps up his face as he studies him. “Wow, you’re cute. No wonder Adam is such a mess.”

 

Eric lets out a puff of laughter as the nerves sizzling in his stomach settle into a low buzz. “Adam’s a mess?” he asks. 

 

“Oh, yeah,” Lee loops their arms together and steers him away. “He’s a disaster, honestly. I can’t wait to tell you all about it, but I have to save it until you’ve been properly mushy together. Otherwise, I won’t get to embarrass him as much.” 

 

Lee’s grin is infectious and Eric can’t help the smile that creeps up his face. “I can’t wait,” he says. “Where is he?” 

 

He squeezes Eric’s arm as they enter a throng of boys. They linger near the walkway, waiting for their families and friends to arrive. “He probably doesn’t know you’re here yet. I was coming out of the loo when the sergeant came to get me.” 

 

Eric’s smile takes on a nervous edge. “Is he happy that I’m here?” he hopes Lee doesn’t notice the quiver in his voice. 

 

“That boy will never say so, but he’s ecstatic. He’s been mooning after you since before he got here.” 

  
  


~~~

 

As the hours passed, Adam had been more and more anxious. Lee had tried to keep him distracted. They’d chatted idly, smoking the last of the cigarettes, until Lee forced him to shower and eat, but Adam hadn’t been able to stomach much. After breakfast, they had kicked a deflated football around for a while, but Adam kept getting lost in his thoughts and missing the ball as it sailed by him. Annoyed, Lee had left him to his own devices to use the bathroom, but that had been almost half an hour ago. 

 

Worried that Lee was in some kind of trouble, Adam decides to go check on him. Most of the other boys don’t pick on Lee anymore, preferring Adam as their target, but occasionally they decided to risk Adam’s wrath. The last time Adam had punched anyone had been in Lee’s defense when he found one of the boys trying to shove his head into a toilet bowl. 

 

He’s turning the corner of one of the dorms to head towards his own when he skids to a halt. His breath catches in his chest. He almost wants to do a 180 and run, but he’s frozen. Lee is walking towards him, his arm looped through Eric’s elbow. 

 

Eric. He was like a dream come true, walking closer with every step. Every image he had captured in his head and cherished while he had been here are so dim in comparison to the real person. Clearly, Eric had been trying to keep a low profile if the yellow trainers, skinny jeans, red t-shirt, and blue jacket were anything to go by, but  _ Christ  _ if he wasn’t still the brightest person Adam had ever seen. He was grinning - Adam had missed that smile - laughing at whatever Lee was saying. 

 

Lee had been right. Even from a distance and above the chaos unfolding around them as visit day unfurled, he could hear Eric’s laugh. 

 

Adam wants to run to him and snatch him out of Lee’s grasp and into a hug. He is dying to swing Eric around like one of those overly sappy rom coms that his mum watches, maybe kiss him right on the lips in front of his classmates and sergeants, uncaring that they’ll see. In his head, Eric laughs against his lips, arms curling around his neck. 

 

The moment Eric sees him is obvious. Their eyes lock and Adam waits for his reaction with baited breath. 

 

Lee mutters something to him, leaning close to whisper in his ear. The eye contact doesn’t  break as Lee drags him forward, closer and closer until Eric - in the flesh,  _ real  _ \- is standing right in front of Adam. They both stand there, frozen in place. 

 

“For fuck’s sake,” Lee grumbles, shoving Eric hard so he tumbles forward. Adam feels himself automatically reaching for him, catching his bicep before he totters to the ground. Eric straightens, looks back up at him. 

 

“Um,” he murmurs, breaking the silence between them. “Hi, Adam.” 

 

Adam’s breath escapes him in a rush. He glances at Lee. “Cover for me,” he says, his voice low. 

 

“Aye aye,” Lee says with a wink and a chipper salute. 

 

Adam pulls Eric with him, back around the corner of the building. It’s not a secluded place, but there is no one around so Adam will take the opportunity. 

 

“I missed you,” he breathes, pressing Eric against the brick of the building. He tries to be gentle because the last thing he wants is to hurt Eric - again - but there is a desperation thrumming under his skin that he hadn’t noticed before. 

 

Eric looks up at him with huge brown eyes. Adam has one hand on Eric’s arm, the other on his hip. Eric’s hands rest, almost tentatively, on his shoulders. 

 

“I missed you too,” he whispers. “I’m sorry I didn’t write. Something came up.” His eyes flick down, then back up. His tongue flits out to wet his lips. Adam can’t help but watch the movement. 

 

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Adam admits, leaning closer. “I can’t believe Lee actually convinced you to come.”

 

Eric laughs and Adam wants to just melt into him. “Lee didn’t convince me to come,” he says. “Didn't he tell you? I asked to come, if he knew a way.” 

 

“That fucker,” Adam growls. He leans in, unable to fight the urge any longer, and presses his lips boldly to Eric’s. Any hesitance in Eric melts away immediately. His arms wrap around Adam’s neck, drawing him closer. Adam circles an arm around his hips, pressing their chests together, drinking up the small sighs Eric emmits. He commits the sound of their kiss, the feel of their lips sliding together, the press of Eric’s smaller form into his memory. 

 

He missed him. Christ, he missed him so much. This kiss, this connection, is more than he ever let himself truly hope for. The longer they kiss, the more confident Eric gets. He tangles a hand in Adam’s short hair, nails scratching against his scalp pleasantly. Adam presses him hard against the wall, lifting the hand on his shoulder to touch his face. He traces the lines of Eric’s sharp cheekbones, his heart brimming with longing. 

 

He pulls back for just a moment so he can look at Eric’s face. His eyes are half lidded and blown with lust, but a smile twists the corners of his lips upwards. “Adam,” he whispers, and Adam would swear his own name had never sounded so good before. He presses back in, muffling Eric’s wimper with another kiss. 

 

Adam is two seconds from pressing his tongue into Eric’s mouth when a sharp wolf whistle makes him jolt. He pulls back, dropping his hands from Eric’s body immediately as he looks up. 

 

“You fucker!” Adam hisses through gritted teeth. Lee stands there, hands in his pockets as he leans casually against the building. “I swear to God, I’ll punch that grin right off your face.”

 

Lee laughs, like he always does, and walks close so he can loop his arm back through Eric’s. “Our class sergeant is on the prowl,” he says. “And so are others. So unless you wanna get caught macking on your bo-”

 

“Lee!” 

 

“Macking on Eric,” Lee corrects, his grin widening perceptible. “You better find someplace less obvious.” 

 

“You’re dead to me,” Adam groans, slouching against the building and pressing a hand to his face. His cheeks are burning, and he honestly can’t tell if it’s leftover from the kiss or if he’s embarrassed. 

 

“He’s embarrassed,” Lee not so subtly whispers into Eric’s ear. 

 

“ _ Dead  _ to me!” Adam insists, then straightens. “Come on.” 

 

~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in two days?!? What is this madness!! I was fueled by the outstanding feedback and love for this fic, so if you keep it coming so will I ;) 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy the sappiness because, well. No spoilers, but I recommend savoring it. 
> 
> See ya next chapter, loves!

**Author's Note:**

> Hey pals! I binge watched Sex Education on Sunday, read every available EricxAdam fic available on A03 by Monday night, scrolled through lots and lots of Tumblr/Insta posts about SE and then hand wrote the outline/first chapter in three hours. Hope you enjoyed! More to come.


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